A/N: Pivotal chapter, right here. Also the longest one yet, if you can believe it. On a completely unrelated note, Gibbs and his new lady cuddled in "The Missionary Position" and I about died of the cute. :) Read on.


Nine

Late January/February; 2004

It was a testament to Jenny's considerable concentration abilities that she was so intently focused on the Mossad briefing she was currently attending when there was a distinctly bored three-year-old fidgeting in her lap.

Madeleine had long decided the colouring book her mother had given her to amuse herself with was not very amusing at all, and had abandoned it in favor of peering around the room with interest at the many faces.

In an absent, soothing motion, Jenny calmly brushed her fingers through the little girl's thick-ish, auburn hair, gently squeezing her shoulder once in a while so Madeleine would know that Mama was very much aware of her actions. It was a dismal, cold February day, and Jenny's nanny had come down with the flu that had been threatening the whole city. The incapacitation of Rebecca could not have come at a less convenient time; Jenny had operational meetings all week, and she could only pawn Madeleine off on Tali when the youngest David herself wasn't consumed with work. Madeleine only attended her Montessori school three days a week, so it was a troublesome dilemma.

When Madeleine had been a baby, it had been much easier to have her around during the meetings; she'd slept most of the time, and if she hadn't been sleeping, she'd been eating or contentedly looking around in wonder—and she hadn't been able to understand anything.

It was…different, now.

One of the Israeli officers slammed his fist onto the table and burst into exasperated yelling, berating an English operative they had been working with lately. A short word from Director David quelled the noise, but Madeleine responded to the shouting by shifting onto her knees in Jenny's lap and leaning on the table, glaring interestedly at the shouter.

Jenny gently pulled her back a little and kissed the crown of her head, murmuring a quiet, soft reprimand. Madeleine looked up at Jenny and puckered her lips dramatically, opening her eyes wide and sighing. Jenny smirked, but didn't acknowledge the antics.

"Director, you have to acknowledge the danger of operating under assumed intelligence—"

"You are clearly operating under your own damn assumed intelligence—"

"Jesus Christ, McFadden, just let it go—Ziva shot you down, she's right—"

"We can't ignore the facts just because this agency is riddled with nepotism!"

Another burst of angry Hebrew, this time initiated by a man to the left of Ziva with dark, foreboding features and a lean look in his dark eyes. Madeleine watched the exchange and then tilted her head back up.

"Mama," she said quietly.

Jenny put a finger to her lips.

"Ima," Madeleine hissed, a little more insistently. She reached up and touched Jenny's chin, twisting a little. "Mama, I'm bored," she whispered in English. She squirmed and slouched down, trying to get away from Jenny's lap.

Jenny, aware that she was starting to be stared at, lifted Madeleine back up and put her mouth close to her daughter's ear, speaking rapidly in low Hebrew:

"Not much longer, Madeleine, please be a lady."

Madeleine sighed and whined. She reached for her crayons and broke one in half, sticking her upper lip out and attempting to balance the half-crayon between it and her nose. She giggled when it fell, and Jenny flinched as the crayoned rolled lazily across the table.

"How are we supposed to negotiate the terms of this next round of ops when we don't even have the full attention of NCIS," snarled one of the Israeli military.

"You have my full attention," Jenny said sharply. "I believe I contributed a course of action, General."

"A course of action that tasted bitterly of American diplomacy!" retorted the General. He curled his lip at Jenny disparagingly. "You are too afraid to do anything that would jeopardize the deal you have with OPEC."

"Can you blame us?" Jenny asked tightly.

"Blame you? For supporting regimes that oppress and destroy our people—"

"That is enough, General Bashaat," Eli interrupted coolly. "This is not a roundtable discussion on American international policy; this is an exploration of courses of action considering the Intel fed to us by MI6, NCIS Cairo, and Haswari," he paused, and looked sharply at his General. "It is a civil discussion, mind you."

"It is a childish one," barked the General, shooting a nasty look at Madeleine.

"It would seem so," Ziva remarked silkily. "Perhaps Agent Shepard's child could give you a lesson on self-control, General."

He shot the Director of Mossad's daughter a livid look, but clamped his mouth shut, swallowing a bitter retort, and lowering his eyes as a subtle ripple of laughter went through the table. Jenny nodded briefly in Ziva's direction, thanking her.

"Ima," Madeleine said quietly, after discussion had resumed. She flicked one of her crayons, making it roll across the table, and she beamed, her eyes lighting up. "Mama, watch," she coaxed.

"Madeleine Jane, stop that," Jenny reprimanded, putting her hand over Madeleine's. Before she could give her daughter a no-nonsense look, a piece of purple crayon came rolling blithely back across the table, aimed right at Madeleine's hand.

The three-year-old giggled and yanked her hand from beneath Jenny's, flicking the crayon back in the direction it had come. Jenny snapped her eyes up and found herself watching as Eli David covertly caught the crayon in his fingers and expertly rolled it back towards Madeleine as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

Her jaw hanging open slightly, she watched as Madeleine giggled and continued with the game, wrinkling her nose and making faces at Eli every time he caught her crayon and rolled it back nonchalantly.

Eli caught her eye briefly and his look was stern and composed. Jenny bit her lip to hold back a smile. Her attention was no longer on the meeting; she was busy watching Eli David entertain her daughter.

Madeleine looked at Jenny gleefully, as if to reiterate that she was playing with the mighty director of Mossad. She hopped forward to lean on the table and shot the crayon to the Director; Eli flicked it back and it rolled out of Madeleine's reach to the floor.

Madeleine slipped stealthily out of Jenny's grip and crouched to pick up the crayon. She crawled under the table, at which point Jenny snapped out of her moment of amusement and leaned back, clenching her jaw.

"Madeleine," she hissed under her breath, reaching down to try and catch her.

Madeleine snickered and scampered away, popping up next to Eli on the other side of the table. She leaned against Eli's knee and handed him the crayon, smiling proudly. Eli did not take the crayon, and Jenny winced, biting her lip with dread.

The Director of Mossad then reached down and pinched Madeleine's nose between his middle and pointer finger, pulling his hand away to present her with his thumb between the two. Having played the game before, Madeleine covered her face with a gasp.

"Ima," she announced. "Tali's Aba took my nose."

Jenny felt her cheeks flush as silence fell in the room; the people who didn't immediately glare at the NCIS agent turned shocked, befuddled looks to the three-year-old who had brazenly interrupted them. Madeleine, unfazed, reached for Eli's hand and tried to pry it open, glaring at him in a pretty little way.

"I want it back, please," she said.

"What shall you do if I do not give it back?" Eli asked seriously.

Madeleine stopped pulling at his hand, looking confused. She looked at Jenny and Jenny covered her mouth, her cheeks still red from the annoyed, frustrated stares her daughter was earning her. She pursed her lips but couldn't find anything to say; she shot a desperate look at Eli, and then Ziva.

Madeleine was still at a loss.

"I said please," she said, putting her hands on her hips. Eli smiled indulgently.

"Sometimes asking nicely does not work," he said, shrugging. "It only works on nice people. How shall you get your nose back, little one, if I am not one of those who is nice?"

Madeleine frowned. She glared at Eli. She reached out and pinched his knee, furrowing her brows in consternation, trying to decide what she should do. Mama had always told her to ask nicely and be polite, and that would earn her rewards.

"I tell my Aba to take Tali's nose!" she decided triumphantly, snatching at his hand again.

Director David laughed heartily, tilting his head back. He gallantly presented Madeleine's 'nose' back to her.

"A nose for a nose, then," he muttered thoughtfully, playing on the words. He nodded. "Interesting," he reached down and lifted Madeleine onto his lap, watching momentarily as she went about fixing her nose back on.

Eli looked up, sizing up the table coldly.

"Even a child knows that one must strike back when struck first," he said shortly. "We will wait for Haswari's next report to clarify the situation; we will anticipate and mitigate the attack," a murmur of outrage rose momentarily, and Eli waited. "Israel is only considered in the right when we are first attacked; when we are the poor, persecuted Jews defending ourselves," he said. He shrugged coolly. "So, this time, we will wait, and when the world weeps and says we have the right to strike back, we will—with superior force."

Director David handed Madeleine one of her crayons.

"I think we are done here," he said, dismissing the agents, officers, and operatives.

As they filed out, disgruntled—hardly any of them pleased, Jenny sat with her eyes narrowed on Director David as he held Madeleine in his nap. She stood as Ziva left and walked around the table, perching on the edge and reaching for her daughter. She gave her temporary boss a searching look, tilting her head.

"I am not sure that was a lesson I wanted her taught," Jenny remarked neutrally, standing up and swinging Madeleine onto her hip.

Eli was unfazed.

"If she grows up here, Agent Shepard, it is a lesson she will know by heart if she means to survive."

With that, Eli David, the Director of Mossad who had taken a somewhat secret liking to Madeleine Gibbs, stood and left the room slowly, exiting to his office through a secluded door in the corner.

Left alone, Jenny looked down at Madeleine. Madeleine looked at her and beamed; clearly proud of herself and amused by the strange, interesting events she'd participated in today. Jenny smiled back a little half-heartedly, a hollow sort of dread drifting into the back of her mind.


Gibbs rubbed his forehead in irritation as he listened to DiNozzo and Kate bicker yet again.

He slammed his palm down on his desk, startling them both into silence. Glaring, he stood up slowly; making them look at him in fear for a moment before he finally spoke.

"Who is this guy?" he demanded shortly.

They were on a case involving a murder on a beach—the tip had come in from an anonymous caller, and now it looked like that anonymous caller was the only individual whom might give some insight on what had happened that night.

For the past five minutes, DiNozzo and Kate had been arguing over whether or not they needed to call in this expert they both seemed to know. Kate was in favor; DiNozzo was against, and the calm debate had quickly turned into the two of them hurling insults at each other like petulant siblings.

When neither one of them answered him right away, he picked the weakest link and glared until DiNozzo answered him:

"It's this kid up in Norfolk, McGee," DiNozzo relented, making a face. "He's some kind of computer genius."

"If anyone can track the call, Gibbs, he can," Kate insisted earnestly.

"Abby can do it!" DiNozzo snapped.

"Abby isn't just our lab tech," Kate retorted, annoyed. "She's overworked as it is!"

"Norfolk?" Gibbs asked, narrowing his eyes.

Kate nodded.

"He was the first responder to the crime scene that landed us on the submarine."

Gibbs looked at her blankly.

"While you were…gone," she prompted uncertainly. "He's green, but he can do it—he's got potential."

"Well if that isn't the probie calling the probie green," mocked DiNozzo.

Coming around his desk, Gibbs smacked DiNozzo in the back of his head and pointed at Kate.

"Call the kid," he ordered. "Get him up here. See if he can track the tip."

DiNozzo whined in protest, and Gibbs felt rather than saw Kate shoot Tony a triumphant smirk. Gibbs slapped his hand on the button for the elevator, headed to see Ducky for a cause of death. He reached up and rubbed his forehead again, trying to massage his headache away. He was tired. He felt like a truck had hit him. There wasn't anything he could do about it, though. If Madeleine wanted to talk to him, he wasn't going to ignore his phone.

Even if it did keep ringing in the middle of the night.


Madeleine stood quietly at the edge of her mother's bed, peeking at Jenny's sleeping face with wide-awake green eyes. She blinked periodically, willing her mother to wake up with the force of her stare. She was scared, but her mother had been sleepy and snappy lately, and she didn't want to get in trouble.

"Mommy," she whispered very quietly.

She knew her mother preferred to be called the English word.

"Mommy," she whispered again, hiding her face a little.

Jenny's eyes flew open and she gasped, startled. She stared at Madeleine, her eyes wide and adjusting to the light, and then reached up to push her hair back, sighing heavily.

"What is it, Madeleine?" she asked, resigned.

Madeleine hunkered down a little, hiding her face. Jenny groaned and sat up, peering over the edge of her bed.

"Look at me, Madeleine," she coaxed. "What's wrong? Why are you out of bed? Do I need to check for sea monsters again?"

Madeleine stood up, shaking her head slowly.

"I want to call Aba," Madeleine said.

Jenny shook her head.

"It's the middle of his work day, honey," she placated. "We can call him this afternoon."

Jenny started to get up, throwing her legs out of bed and to the floor. She sighed, reaching out her hand.

"Come on, let's go back to bed."

"No," said Madeleine, darting away from Jenny's hand and trying to scramble onto her mother's bed. "No, I want to call Aba."

"Madeleine," Jenny sighed, a warning entering her voice.

"Mommy," Madeleine whined back, her face dissolving into tears. "Mommy, I need to call Aba," she sobbed, burying her face in the side of Jenny's bed. "Please!" she shouted.

Shocked, Jenny slid down to her knees, reaching gently for Madeleine's sides. She pried the three-year-old away from the bed and pulled her close, pressing the child's head into her chest and hugging her tightly. She stroked Madeleine's hair slowly, trying to calm her down. Madeleine locked her arms around Jenny's neck and cried still.

"Madeleine," Jenny murmured. "Emmy," she said, using Jethro's nickname for her. She pulled back a little and looked her daughter in the eye, frowning sympathetically. She pursed her lips and kissed Madeleine's tear-wetted nose, brushing her cheeks off with her thumb.

Madeleine's lower lip trembled.

"I'm scared," she informed Jenny seriously.

"Why are you so scared, ahuva?" Jenny asked calmly. "Did you have a scary dream?"

"I don't know," Madeleine sobbed. "Call Daddy!" she insisted, struggling with Jenny. Jenny shushed her quietly and pulled her into her lap, kissing her nose again. She waited until Madeleine stopped struggling.

It was exhausting, Madeleine's sudden need to call Jethro on a whim at random intervals during the day. Jenny knew it was taking its toll on him as well. She urged him to just screen the calls once in a while, but she knew in her heart that he would never ignore the call. She knew he answered even when it woke him up at three in the morning—but Jenny couldn't figure out why it was becoming so necessary.

As unfortunate as it was, Madeleine's concept of Jethro was usually out-of-sight out of mind—she talked to him when Jenny called him, and of course interacted with him when he visited, but other than that, he was just a mysterious, mostly absent figure.

Kneeling on the floor by her bed, Jenny hugged Madeleine again, frowning as she tried to discern the best course of action. This neurotic behavior needed to be addressed, but Jenny had to first figure out what had triggered Madeleine's desire to talk to Jethro every single day.

"Why do we have to call Daddy now?" Jenny asked thoughtfully. "Why can't we wait until morning, sweetheart?"

"Make sure he answers," Madeleine whimpered. "So he's not dead."

Jenny gasped involuntarily, and she knew the reaction scared Madeleine.

"What?" Jenny asked hoarsely. "Emmy, why do you think Daddy is dead?" she asked shakily, biting her lip sharply. Madeleine's face crumpled again. She put her hands over her face and began speaking Hebrew. Jenny answered in Hebrew, her brow furrowing. She gently removed Madeleine's hands from her face.

"Speak up," she coaxed. "Speak to me, not your hands."

"Mimi's daddy died," Madeleine whimpered.

"Oh," Jenny whispered softly, biting her lip as she finally grasped what must have been irritating Madeleine lately.

One of Madeleine's classmates, at her Montessori school, had lost a parent to a Palestinian attack. Jenny had heard about the tragedy, but hadn't thought to discuss it with Madeleine—she was three years old, Jenny assumed she wouldn't understand what had happened. She surely hadn't anticipated the incident frightening Madeleine.

"Okay," Jenny decided, bracing her shoulders as she stood up and lifted Madeleine onto her hip.

She rubbed her daughter's back as she carried her into the kitchen, flipping on a light and reaching for the telephone. Madeleine rubbed her eyes, squinting in the sudden brightness, and rested her head on Jenny's shoulder, her small hand holding tightly to Jenny's neck.

Jenny decided the best course of action would be to call Jethro now so Madeleine's fears could be assuaged. She'd get her back to sleep, and call Jethro again later to explain the situation and discuss what they should do. First and foremost, though, she didn't want Madeleine to be living in fear of her father dying.

"I am calling him right now, Madeleine," Jenny said, holding the phone to her ear. "Does that make you feel better?"

"Yes," Madeleine said softly. "Am sorry I get you awake," Madeleine said in a small voice.

Jenny smiled apologetically. She shook her head.

"If you feel scared, you come get me," she said seriously. "It is always okay to wake me up if you need me."

"Yes," Madeleine said again.

"Gibbs," Jethro answered abruptly, cutting off the dull ringing.

"Hey, Jethro," Jenny began calmly. "Madeleine's a little bit scared and she wants to hear your voice," she informed him, nodding at Madeleine. The little girl took the phone as Jenny handed it to her and sniffled, pressing it tightly to her ear—even though it was much too big for her small face.

"Jen?" she heard Jethro say, concerned. "Madeleine?" he said.

"Daddy?" Madeleine said into the phone, her voice going up uncertainly. "Say words to Emmy," she said in third person.

Jenny smiled. She heard Jethro laugh apprehensively.

"Aren't you up past your bedtime, princess?"


Gibbs stared critically at the new kid working diligently next to Abby—and DiNozzo had been right in describing this Agent McGee as a kid. He looked fresh out of whatever high-priced, private university his parents had paid for; he was as twitchy and eager to please as a barely-housebroken puppy.

"Got it," the kid said suddenly, straightening up and smiling goofily. He quickly scribbled something on a sheet of paper and turned around, his smile fading a little when he met Gibbs' stony, narrow glare. "Uh, the name, I, uh, got it," he stammered, holding the paper out.

Gibbs took it silently. Abby giggled, and McGee turned to look at her, silently begging for help. Abby shrugged perkily and looked at Gibbs, waiting to see his reaction. Gibbs peered over the paper at the two computer geniuses. He folded the paper over.

"You're sure?"

"Positive," McGee squeaked. "I latched onto the signal, lost it, then picked it back up—for a while it was highly encrypted, but Abby knows a guy who could interpret…" as Gibbs' glare intensified at the tech-speak, McGee trailed off, flushing. "Positive," he repeated.

Gibbs glared at him a moment longer, flicking his eyes briefly to the proud, sparkly-eyed Abby. He handed the paper back to McGee and jerked his thumb towards the door.

"Give it to Kate and DiNozzo, tell 'em to track him down," he ordered.

"Yes, sir!" McGee said eagerly, darting out of the lab.

Gibbs turned his attention to Abby, arching an eyebrow.

"You should be nicer to Timmy," Abby admonished lightly, beaming at him smugly. Gibbs approached her, narrowing his eyes slightly. Abby, who generally disliked having anyone in her lab with her while she worked, seemed to have jumped at the chance to work with Agent McGee when she'd been told he was on his way to the Navy Yard.

"He stay at your place?" Gibbs asked.

"He has to stay somewhere, Gibbs."

"You sleepin' with Timmy, Abs?" Gibbs asked protectively.

She pretended to look affronted.

"Gibbs! What a personal question to ask!" she protested mockingly. She raised her eyebrow at him. "Besides, I object to the terminology. He is sleeping with me."

Gibbs snorted; he rolled his eyes.

"What's the difference?" he asked gruffly.

Abby smiled wickedly.

"A coffin."


Jenny could hardly keep the grin off her lips as she leaned forward on her knees, seated on the edge of the very first row of bleachers, looking through the glass as her daughter pranced around on the ice in concentration, performing a simple, cute little dance to upbeat Hebrew music. Her small face was flushed and her two thin ponytails bounced rhythmically.

Madeleine did not know her mother was coming to watch, and she hadn't spotted Jenny yet. If the three and a half year old did well in her casual performance for the Figure Skating teachers today, she'd be allowed to move up a class. Jenny had been stressed all week; she had been sure she wouldn't be able to make the lesson.

The stress was gone now; Jenny had made it. She had slipped in just as the class started, taking Rebecca's place on the bleachers and letting the nanny have the rest of the day off. Watching Madeleine prance around on the ice was fun and heartening, and Jenny was suddenly gripped with the bitter regret that she'd only ever watched once before, on Madeleine's first day at the rink.

The music ended and Jenny straightened up with a grin, widening her eyes. Sitting away from her in a group were the mothers of the other students; they all began to clap and call out, and Jenny joined in, drawing curious looks from the other women—who were no doubt wondering who she was. Madeleine noticed her mother when she started to clap; her green eyes widened and lit up, and as the class started to break up to look for parents, Madeleine began to wave at Jenny ecstatically.

Jenny stood up and walked to the archway that led to the ice, politely slipping past the other parents to step cautiously onto the ice right by the entrance.

"Mommy," cried Madeleine, stumbling into Jenny less-than-gracefully. Jenny caught her and swept her up, ignoring the pain of her daughter's skates roughly knocking against her knees and then hips as she hugged her close. "Mommy, you saw me dance!"

Madeleine burst into a string of bubbly Hebrew, laughing and wrapping her arms tightly around Jenny's neck. Jenny kissed the preschooler's nose and forehead and ruffled her hair, laughing at the surprise and excitement emanating from the little girl. Madeleine wriggled primly, reaching up to smooth the parted hair between her pigtails.

"I didn't fall once, Ima," Madeline said eagerly, the sentence coming out as a toddler-ish mix of Hebrew and English. Her voice was clear as a bell, young, childish, and music to Jenny's exhausted, over-worked ears. "You saw?"

"I saw the whole thing, ahuva," Jenny murmured brightly, holding Madeleine firmly in front of her. The skates dug into her spine where Madeleine had her legs around Jenny's waist, but the redhead didn't care. "Oh, I am so proud of you," Jenny said earnestly. Jenny wrinkled her nose and fluttered her eyelashes. "But aren't you cold?" she asked playfully, over-exaggerating a shiver.

Madeleine giggled.

"We live in a desert," she said matter-of-factly. "Put me down," she requested firmly, still speaking Hebrew. Jenny complied, straightening Madeleine's wispy pink skirt as she released her. Madeleine put her hands on her hips and looked up at Jenny. "You're a sneaky Mama," she said seriously.

Jenny laughed, nodding.

"You know, your father isn't the only one who can show up unexpectedly," she said wryly.

Madeleine beamed, scooting over and wrapping her arms around Jenny's leg. Jenny reached down and tousled the little girl's hair gently again, reveling in the comforting grasp of her daughter's hug. It had been a grueling, troublesome day at Mossad, and Madeleine always made those days better.

Madeleine jumped away from Jenny suddenly, darting forward a little to meet a girl who had been on the ice with her. The other little girl tugged on Madeleine's hand and whispered in her ear, and then looked up at Jenny shyly. Madeleine motioned for Jenny to come closer; Jenny crouched down obligingly, getting on the girls' level.

"Mimi, she's my Ima," Madeleine said happily, placing Mimi's small hand in Jenny's palm.

Jenny smiled gently, remembering Mimi to be the young child whose father had been lost to a nasty attack—the attack that had prompted Madeleine to demand to call Jethro at all hours of the day. Since she had gotten over that, Madeleine seemed to have forgotten that her father existed at all.

"Hello, Mimi," Jenny said warmly, squeezing the child's hand comfortingly. Mimi smiled shyly and shifted on her skates, a few dark curls falling into her eyes. She whispered a timid 'shalom' and Jenny smiled again.

"Miriam, please begin taking your skates off," a woman stepped onto the ice and extended her hand, helping Madeleine's friend to hop off the ice and run to the cubbies in the carpeted area. Jenny chucked Madeleine under the chin gently and nodded her head in the same direction, sending her child off to unlace her skates. As she straightened, the woman who had approached smiled at her cautiously.

"You are Madeleine's mother?" she asked in halting English.

Jenny nodded, extending her hand.

"I am Dina, Miriam's mother," the woman introduced, still politely using English.

"Jenny," the redhead responded. "I speak Hebrew," she added, taking some of the pressure off the conversation. Dina looked relieved, and smiled in a much more relaxed, easy manner. Mimi's mother was young, but she had tired, worried lines around her mouth and eyes—it was a look Jenny noticed plagued many mothers in Israel; looking at Dina, Jenny couldn't help remember that this had been the woman who recently lost her husband.

"I have not seen you around the rink before," Dina said.

"I work quite a bit," Jenny answered. "Madeleine's nanny usually brings her."

"Ah, yes, the young Muslim woman?" Dina gestured around her head to indicate a hijab. She snapped her fingers. "Miss Becca, the little girls call her. She is very pleasant."

Jenny nodded earnestly in agreement.

"She's a lifesaver," she admitted. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

Dina nodded thoughtfully. She hesitated, and crossed her arms.

"Madeleine says her father lives in America?" she ventured.

"Does she?" Jenny asked mildly, unaware that Madeleine mentioned Jethro outside of the home. Jenny though about her answer for a moment and then confirmed vaguely. "Yes, well, her father doesn't live here. Hence the nanny's usefulness."

"I understand," Dina said. "Doing it alone is an," the woman paused heavily, "an adjustment," she decided softly. Instinctively, Jenny reached out and touched Dina's shoulder comfortingly. Dina smiled sadly and shrugged her shoulders.

"We are raised to be prepared to face such things," she said solemnly, "but we never really can be prepared. My mother's family came here after Auschwitz. It is my homeland, but maybe sometimes I think I should get Mimi out," Dina pressed her lips together and studied Jenny.

"Ima, Ima, Madden's laces are stuck again, help," Mimi chirped insistently, poking her head around the archway and looking up at Dina and Jenny matter-of-factly. Dina stepped over and stroked Mimi's hair, smiling over her shoulder at Jenny.

"I am afraid my daughter does not pronounce Madeleine's name very well," she said, amused.

Jenny smiled good-naturedly and waved her hand.

"Her father never says it right, either," Jenny said, slipping past Dina and walking over to Madeleine. The little girl was seated on a bleacher, one foot free of a skate and dangling towards the floor, sheathed in a woolen sock. She tugged mercilessly at the laces on another, her brows knitted in concentration, her mouth twisted in a very Gibbs-like scowl. Jenny clicked her tongue and crouched in front of Madeleine.

She reached out helpfully.

"Let me get that knot," she offered.

Madeleine scooted away.

"No, I can do it," she said in English. "I promise, watch," she said.

"It's a pretty tight knot. I can help," Jenny said.

"No!" Madeleine insisted. "I can do it, Ima, promise. I want you to see me do it," she said earnestly, clawing at the knot. She stuck her tongue between her teeth. Jenny waited patiently to be asked for help. After a minute more of struggling, Madeleine sighed and hung her head, thrusting her foot out at Jenny.

Jenny took the little skate in her lap and deftly untied it.

"You loosened up that knot for me, babe!" she said seriously, widening her eyes. "Oh my, you must have inherited Daddy's muscles," Jenny added, pinching Madeleine's arms. Madeleine giggled and leapt up, darting to the cubbyhole for her shoes.

"Is Daddy strong?" she asked, ripping off her wool socks and tossing them at Jenny. Hesitantly, Jenny looked around for Madeleine's bag; Dina discreetly handed it to her, helping Jenny out. Jenny nodded to her in thanks, feeling an unexpected pang of guilt as she acknowledged that she didn't really know where anything was or how anything worked at this rink that her child loved so much.

"Daddy," Jenny responded, unbuckling Madeleine's Mary Jane sandals and handing them to her, "is very strong."

"Like a superhero?" Madeleine asked in a whisper. Jenny smiled fondly and leaned forward, kissing her daughter on the temple with a smile.

"Just like a superhero," she agreed softly.

"Maybe he knows Superwoman," Madeleine piped up.

"You better hope not," Jenny said smartly, giving Madeleine a sassy look. "That would make your Mama very jealous."

"You're superwoman, Mama," Madeleine giggled, letting Jenny buckle her shoe. Jenny looked at Madeleine intently and smiled back, touched by the comment. She stood up and helped Madeleine hop off the bleachers, smoothing down the part between her pigtails again. She hugged Madeleine close to her leg and smirked.

"Madden," called Mimi, darting over to Madeleine and taking her hand. "You play at my house now, Ima says!" she said excitedly, tackling Madeleine with a hug. Madeleine squealed and looked up at Jenny with wide, inquiring eyes. Jenny turned to Dina. Dina gestured to the kids and smiled apologetically.

"She's very excited. Miriam's been asking to have a play date with Madeleine for a few weeks now, but I hesitated to ask the nanny. I felt it would be invading your authority. I also thought you might like to meet me before you let me take her to my home," Dina explained kindly.

"I appreciate that," Jenny said sincerely. "I'm sure Madeleine would love a play date with Mimi!" she added warmly.

"YES!" shouted Madeleine, hopping up and down. "Yes, please, yes yes yes!" she squealed. Jenny laughed and rested her palm on Madeleine's shoulder to calm her down. She thought about it for a moment.

"Madeleine goes to a Montessori school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from nine to one," she explained. "I'm never positive of my work schedule, but I can give you a call in a few days once I know something concrete."

"That sounds fine," Dina answered. "My schedule never changes. I'm a nurse; I work the same four shifts every week," she explained. "They'll have a lovely time; Mimi has a wonderful playhouse that my husband built and there's a good backyard," Dina smiled. "If you're free, don't hesitate to join. You and I can have tea while the girls play."

Jenny nodded.

"That would be refreshing," she said seriously.

Dina would most likely not understand how refreshing just sitting back with another woman—a mother, not a krav maga trained assassin like Ziva—would be. Jenny doubted it would work out, as she was so busy lately, but it was comforting thought.

She said her goodbyes to Dina and Mimi, and then bent and swept Madeleine up onto her hip, hugging her tightly. The little girl squirmed and protested, making an exaggerated face and whining about being snuggled so much. Jenny just scrunched up her nose and kissed Madeleine dramatically on the cheek, reveling in the strangeness that was picking her daughter up from practice and planning a play date as if she were a normal, confident mother.


Jenny answered her cell phone slowly, leaning back in her bathtub and making sure her hand was dry before she relaxed. She tilted her head back against the tile and sighed, pursing her lips.

"Hello, Jethro," she said pleasantly.

"You sound good," he said suspiciously. She smirked, biting her lower lip. She didn't answer and he grunted at her. She laughed.

"Jealous?" she asked mildly.

"Should I be?" he retorted, bristling.

"Not unless you think some pricey bubble bath is competition," she answered seriously. He made a dismissive noise and grumbled something. Jenny just laughed again and sunk further into her much-deserved bath, waiting for him to tell her what he'd called for, or ask her something else.

"You get fired or something?" he asked smartly. "It's rare you get to just take a damn bubble bath."

"Isn't it?" she agreed blissfully. "A mission I was supposed to run fell through, unfortunately," she explained.

"Where's our kid?" he asked.

"Madeleine has a play date today," Jenny said proudly. "She'll be at her friend Mimi's house until five, and then I get to play with her all night."

"Mimi's the little girl whose father died?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes," Jenny answered solemnly. "She and Madeleine are good friends, it seems. I spoke with Mimi's mother before the play date was arranged," Jenny paused, brightening suddenly. "Ah, and I've discovered that Madeleine talks about you at skating class."

"She does?"

"She tells her classmates that her daddy lives in America," Jenny explained fondly. "She isn't as oblivious to you as I was afraid," she added uncertainly.

"I'm glad, Jen," he answered seriously. "She's not oblivious. She talks to me when I call," he said a little defensively.

"I know," Jenny said earnestly. "I still feel like she doesn't understand what you are to her," she tried to explain. "She was so scared for those few days when she thought you were going to die, but it seems like she was upset because Mimi was sad. It's," Jenny paused.

"What?" Gibbs asked, when she didn't go on.

"It's different," she continued slowly. "My dad wasn't on deployments away from me until I was in my teens. I waited for him to come home every day. I understood that he was as much of caregiver as my mom," Jenny stopped talking. "Never mind, I don't want to talk about my family," she muttered. She pulled her knee up, watching hot water fall off of it in dripping waves.

"I get it, Jen," he said. His voice sounded strain. "You heard about your promotion yet?" he asked.

"No," she answered softly. It was February; she should be hearing soon. At the beginning of March, she knew there would be some kind of drastic change; her contracted time with Mossad was about to be terminated, and being reminded of it feel very uncertain.

"Think about coming home, Jenny," he said bluntly.

"Home?" she scoffed, panicked. "Home to the states? Home to you? Jethro, I know it's painful to be this far apart all the time, but the thought of living with you is just as scary," she admitted breathlessly.

He laughed.

"I'm not asking you to move in, damn, remember what happened last time?" he said smugly. "I don't want a Dear Daddy letter from Madeleine showin' up in the mail," he teased.

It was the first time she had heard him joke about Paris without malice, and it left her speechless for a minute.

"Sounds like you've forgiven me," she ventured.

"Nope," he deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes half-heartedly, though he couldn't see. She bit her lip and fell silent, tilting her head.

"We can call you tonight before bedtime," she said. "I hate that you called and she wasn't here."

"Ah, it's okay," he said. "Don't mind hearin' your voice, Jen," he said huskily.

"Oh, stop, you just know I'm naked," she drawled.

He snorted. He paused and then cleared his throat.

"Hey, you remember those cases back in the day that Decker and I worked? Need to know?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered. "Those were infuriating. Stan and I just had to hang around trying to figure out what was going on."

"You didn't like being kept in the dark?" Gibbs asked.

"Of course not," she fired back. "Hell, Jethro, we couldn't do anything for you without any case information—and our seniority shouldn't have mattered; we were part of the team."

"It was to protect you," Gibbs said.

"Bullshit," Jenny responded. "We wanted to do the work. You were just busy using your unorthodox methods—Jethro," she paused suspiciously. "Are you calling to talk about a case?"

He didn't answer.

"Gibbs," she prompted, arching an eyebrow. "Is it one of our cold cases?" she asked.

He grunted in the negative, and she herd him struggling with his better judgment.

"My old CO," he answered finally. "He's got a problem," Gibbs explained vaguely. "I've been keepin' the team out of it."

"Read them in," Jenny advised immediately.

"Jen," he protested.

"Jethro," she responded firmly. "They're more useful if they know what's happening. If it's a sticky situation," she hesitated. "Well, Jethro, if they're anything like Burley, Decker and I were, then they're willing to go down for you if they have to."

"You were the only one willing to go down for me," Jethro answered smugly.

She opened her mouth in scandalized surprised. She laughed, her shoulder shaking, and pushed her hair back with a wet, soapy hand, shaking her head in amusement.

"I'm glad to hear that, Jethro, I'd hate to think you were stepping out on me with Stan all those years ago," she said smoothly. She calmed down, blowing air out through her lips. "You called to talk about a case," she mused thoughtfully. "I feel important."

"You are important," he said bluntly. He quieted for a minute. "Might add another guy to the team," he ventured.

"Hmm?" she questioned. "You just hired that girl."

"Todd," he reminded her. "Yeah, but this kid's a techie, computer whiz," he explained. "I'm starting to think we need that stuff."

"I admire your foresight, Jethro," she said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes to herself; of course Jethro would be the last to notice that computer skills were becoming vital in this day and age. "That would give you three people."

"Yeah."

"DiNozzo's got to be pretty experienced by now," Jenny said. "He's been with you as long as I've had Madeleine. You hire this new kid, and you could get over here more," she said.

"I could," he said, but he didn't sound sure—and he didn't commit. "Or you could come home," he finished stubbornly.

"I can't," she said bluntly.

They fell into silence, and Jenny struggled for something to say, hating the thought of losing the peace and calm she'd been so happy to have with a childless, workless afternoon. She couldn't find anything to say, though, and after a moment, he cleared his throat.

"Gotta get back to work, Jen," he said.

"I know," she sighed. "I will call tonight, right before bedtime," she said earnestly. "Madeleine hasn't talked to you in a while."

"I look forward to it," Gibbs said gruffly.

She said goodbye to him, and closed her flip phone, pressing it against her forehead and sinking down a little. He wasn't going to let her skirt around the issue; he was going to keep reminding her that the time was coming fast for her to make concrete decisions concerning Madeleine's future—and she had to think of it as Madeleine's future, and not as hers.

Jenny sank down in the bath, closing her eyes tightly, and trying to quell the uncertainty and the fear the prospect of such a decision invoked in her blood.


Walking into Abby's lab as she did a quirky impression of Ducky while surrounded by naked, headless baby dolls was not the weirdest moment of Gibbs' career, but it was up there. He slowed as he watched Abby triumphantly hold up a squashed, mangled bullet.

"Does Ducky know you do that?" he asked, coming to a stop and raising a brow at her impersonation of the Scottish ME. Abby smirked and shot him a glance, still eyeing the bullet curiously.

"Hey Gibbs," she chirped brightly, lowering her hand. "I was just about to run this through the ballistics lab," she informed him. Gibbs gave her a curt nod, hoping that would give them some direction in this case.

The shooting of a Marine recruiter had him irritated and tense, and he wanted answers—Kate was taking a long time to sort through the old recruits of Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez. It wasn't her fault, but he had the inkling that if it had all been computerized, it'd be faster. He could get Agent McGee up here again and further prove to Morrow that it was necessary he be put on Gibbs' team.

"Good," Gibbs said. "When you're done, I want to see that mock up of the trajectory on the computer," he said. Abby pranced towards an evidence jar, and Gibbs turned his eyes warily on the mass of naked, headless dolls. He looked at DiNozzo, who was looking suspiciously at the same scene.

"Why are all of these dolls naked?" Gibbs asked under his breath.

DiNozzo held up his hands and backed away.

"Don't look at me, Boss," he muttered. "Must be a Goth thing," he added, turning on his heel and scurrying out of the lab's creepy atmosphere.

Abby cozied up next to Gibbs, evidence jar in hand, and smirked as she watched him look over the somewhat comical, macabre scene. She spread her hand out gallantly over the eerie display of toys and looked at him slyly.

"You want one to take to your daughter?" she asked.

He turned his head and looked at her, snorting. Abby just grinned.


Gibbs shone a flashlight around the dilapidated building he and DiNozzo were rummaging through, intent on finding their sniper's shooting nest. It was sometime after midnight and Gibbs had missed a call from Madeleine and Jenny. He had to admit he was more focused on solving this case for the moment; something in his gut told him this killer wasn't done.

"Kind of reminds me of your apartment, DiNozzo," he remarked dryly, kicking debris out of his way. "Except for that minty fresh urine smell."

"Hey, I have a maid now," the kid protested sheepishly, stumbling over something in the dark.

"You can afford a maid?" Gibbs scoffed skeptically. The mentions of a maid made him think of Noemi, and he remembered he needed to get over there and show her the latest pictures of Madeleine.

"It's amazing what you can afford when you're not paying three alimonies," DiNozzo retorted smugly, sounding quite proud of himself. Gibbs whipped around and aimed his flashlight right at DiNozzo's face, glaring at him. DiNozzo squawked and held up his hand in protest, darting out of the line of light.

"One alimony, DiNozzo," Gibbs corrected gruffly.

"Oh yeah, forgot you never married that Stephanie lady," DiNozzo mumbled. "And Diane got remarried to that FBI guy so I guess it's just the mysterious wife number one cashing in…hey, boss, Stephanie was pretty hot you think I can have her—"

Gibbs crouched down near a brick wall; unable to believe DiNozzo was about to ask for his ex-girlfriend's phone number. He wouldn't wish DiNozzo on any woman, and he certainly wouldn't put himself in a position to have contact with Stephanie again. Their relationship had ended unpleasantly.

Most of Gibbs' relationships seemed to do that, but at least Stephanie had lived to tell the tale.

"Hey DiNozzo, you got your knife on you?" he asked, changing the tune of the conversation.

"Rule number nine," Tony said loudly, clearly glad to have caught Gibbs slacking. "Never go anywhere without a knife."

"I know," Gibbs said smoothly, unsheathing his knife from his pocket. "I was just seein' if you were paying attention."

He heard DiNozzo give a frustrated sigh and carefully slid the blade of his knife into the cracks of a brick, frowning as he pulled it out. He inserted a scope, and saw exactly what he was afraid he'd find—something that would tell him this sniper was intelligent, methodical, and determined.

He was looking at a straight shot into the recruiting center.


"NO."

Jenny ignored the word, having given up a long time ago. She moved around in the kitchen, packing Madeleine's brown paper bag lunch for Montessori school. Her boots, with their small, slightly raised heel, clicked dully on the floor.

"NO."

Madeleine shouted again, sitting stubbornly in her chair and refusing to eat the cereal and banana slices Jenny had fixed for her. The three-year-old kicked her feet, her knees banging around the table, and slouched in her chair, scowling at Jenny. Jenny just rolled her eyes and ignored it again.

"I DON'T WANT THE 'NANAS," Madeleine informed Jenny at the top of her lungs.

In a completely random and utterly unpredictable turn of events, something had changed since breakfast yesterday and Madeleine had decided that she no longer liked bananas.

"You will eat them anyway," Jenny answered calmly.

"NO I WON'T."

If the shouting didn't stop soon, Jenny was going to lose her cool. Rebecca was sick, and Jenny had been forced to do some frazzled, hurried shuffling around with her schedule. Tali was going to be able to watch Madeleine later, but for now, Jenny was in charge, and the change in routine seemed to have upset the little girl.

Madeleine was angry because Jenny had sliced up the banana, when apparently Rebecca let Madeleine have the fun of peeling the fruit and munching on it by herself.

"There's too many 'nanas," Madeleine whined, kicking her feet again.

"Madeleine, it's the same amount as the uncut fruit," Jenny informed her, wrapping a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and sliding it into Madeleine's lunch bag. She smiled at her daughter, ignoring the child's unruly mood. "I used raspberry jam instead of strawberry because I know it's your favorite," she said kindly.

She didn't have a problem with being annoyingly sweet to her daughter even if she felt like smacking her smart little mouth. She knew it was patronizing, but she was the parent here, and she was doing her best not to start shouting right back at Madeleine.

"I want ham for lunch," Madeleine snapped.

"You can't take ham to school," Jenny reminded her.

"Kosher is stupid," Madeleine said grumpily, in Hebrew.

"We do not use that word, young lady," Jenny responded sharply, switching to Hebrew.

Madeleine sank down in her chair a little more and began picking at her cheerios, ignoring her spoon and using her fingers. Jenny sighed and stapled Madeleine's lunch bag closed, biting her lip in annoyance. She wasn't sure she was handling Madeleine's outburst of attitude correctly; at points she thought she was being too soft, and then she thought she was being way too tough on the child.

She hadn't spoken to Jethro in a while; he was in the middle of a serial sniper case, according to Ducky, and he was exhibiting his usual pissed off, dog-with-a-bone agent traits. Jenny didn't want to get in the middle of it and throw him off scent.

She dreaded speaking to him again, frankly. She didn't want the subject of their future coming up again—not now.

Jenny left the kitchen, holding Madeleine's lunch bag, and sat down next to the little girl, picking up the coffee cup she'd left near Madeleine's booster seat. She leaned forward on the table and tapped her finger on the plate of bananas.

"Eat these bananas, ahuva, and then we can go," she said calmly.

"I don't like you," Madeleine said, folding her arms.

Jenny couldn't help but grin at the immature, snotty little comment. She smirked and reached out, stroking Madeleine's light auburn hair back with a gentle hand. Jenny wrinkled her nose and swiped a banana off the plate.

"You can dislike me all you want but you still have to love me," she teased, tickling Madeleine's stomach gently. Madeleine tried very hard not to smile. Jenny grinned again. Madeleine picked up a banana and held it up to Jenny's mouth insistently.

"I love you if you eat the 'nanas," she negotiated brilliantly.

Jenny sighed, carefully removing Madeleine's sneaky hand from her lips.

Here she sat in her apartment in Israel, newly appointed NCIS Assistant Director of Counterterrorism, unable to get a three-year-old to eat her damn bananas and too cowardly to call the child's father and tell him she'd gotten the promotion that would keep her in the Middle East.


Ziva David watched curiously as her young sister played with Jenny Shepard's young child. She was pleased that Tali delighted so much in the youngster, but it also troubled her that Tali was so attached to the little girl. Ziva was glad she had never allowed herself to love Madeleine like Tali did.

"Tali," Ziva said calmly, breaking into the calm silence. Tali looked up, lifting the silly hat she had on her head. Madeleine looked over, too, grinning at Ziva. The two girls were playing a game that was half-dress up, half colouring.

"Yes?"

"Have you heard from Ari?" Ziva asked mildly.

"I have not," Tali answered. She glanced at Madeleine and switched to Yiddish so the child wouldn't be able to pick anything up. "I heard father saying he did not check in with you at the appropriate time."

Ziva inclined her head.

"He did not," she agreed. The older David hesitated briefly. "He has not been in his assigned position the past two times I have monitored him," she added in a murmur. "The Director is not pleased."

"Will you please call him Aba, Ziva?" Tali asked, her brown eyes pleading.

"No," Ziva answered in a clipped, final tone. Tali smiled sadly and shrugged, turning back to colour a little more with Madeleine.

"Ari is executing a dangerous mission," she said practically. "He had been given quite a bit of rope to make his cover work. I doubt there is much reason to worry that he is in danger or compromised."

"All the same," Ziva said moodily. "There is something strange about his inconsistency."

"Zee, he is our brother," Tali said sadly, turning to look at Ziva. "He is good."

"The Director is our father," Ziva said coldly. "And he is neither good nor trustworthy."

Tali bit her lip, looking meaningfully at her sister.

"There is too much darkness in your soul," she murmured.

"There is too much light in yours," Ziva responded, giving Tali a lopsided, small smile.

Tali cocked her head. She smiled.

"Perhaps that means Ari is just the right mix of light and dark," she said optimistically.

"Perhaps it means for Ari, there is only emptiness," Ziva answered pessimistically.

They looked at each other, uncertain. Ari had always been a mystery, a brother they knew of and interacted with but did not grow up with. He had seemed a large, fun figure when they were small and he visited to play, and now they barely remembered the careful bear of a boy he had been.

He was a lean killer, now, as Ziva was a lean killer, and Tali held on to her youth and her compassion, desperate to escape from the same fate but careful not to show her disgust at the violence. Ziva rarely spoke to her sister—or to anyone—about her feelings, but she bit her lip now, desperate to tell Tali how badly she wished the younger girl would get herself out of this war torn region and find something wonderful and peaceful.

"Tali," she said softly. "Have you told," Ziva paused, struggling with the word, "father. Have you told father of your plans to attend that university in America?"

The look on Tali's face gave Ziva her answer, and then and there, Ziva resolved to fight for her sister's right to make her own choices—and decide against Mossad.


Gibbs was halfway through a grueling day of uncomfortable, uniformed undercover work when his cell phone lit up with Jenny's international number. He ignored the call, but when she called right back the moment his phone went to voicemail, he chose to answer, fearing it must be an emergency.

"Gibbs," he grunted. He barely had time to get the word out before Jenny's voice came blaring out of the speaker, ignoring his greeting.

"Jethro, put a bullet proof vest on right now," she snapped forcefully.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, utterly shocked. He blinked, unable to fathom how the hell Jenny was aware he was undercover, much less forgoing the bulletproof vest. From across the room, Kate looked over, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Everything okay, Gibbs?" she asked.

He snapped out of his amazed reverie and nodded curtly, bringing the phone back to his ear and lowering his voice.

"Jenny," he growled. "Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Put a vest on," she said aggressively. "Dammit, Jethro, this isn't the young and the fearless in Paris anymore, you have a child, put a vest on!"

"Who told you?" he demanded, keeping his voice low. Kate narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing him with interest.

"Your lab tech," growled Jenny. "The girl, the excitable one, she was worried," Jenny sounded irritated not only that she'd gotten a call from a woman she barely knew, but because she was having to tell Gibbs he had to be more careful now.

"I'm fine," Gibbs placated. "It doesn't work with the uniform."

"As attractive as I suppose you look in uniform, Jethro," Jenny began, "I don't want to see you in it when I'm burying you. It wasn't too long ago that Madeleine couldn't sleep from fear of losing you so I suggest you take precautions."

Gibbs leaned back, looking up as the recruitment office door opened and a troubled looking kid came in. Kate indicated that Gibbs should get off the phone and he sighed, turning away to hide his face a little.

"Jen, I'll put it on," he assured her. "I've got to go."

"Jethro."

"Goodbye, Jenny," he said a little louder than he meant to. He winced; there was no way Kate hadn't overheard her name.

Gibbs threw his phone on the desk tensely and rubbed his forehead, looking up to glare at Kate; he preferred to circumvent questions before they arose. She held her hands up in surrender and smirked slightly.

"None of my business, Gibbs," she said gruffly, pointing to the kid who'd just walked in. "Get to work, Marine."

She was relishing acting as his boss a little too much.


Madeleine sat quietly and politely in her mother's lap, tying and untying the laces on the little ankle boots Jenny had her wearing. The adults were talking, and Madeleine knew that if she were good and behaved, it would make Mommy happy. Madeleine liked it when Mommy was happy.

"Have you decided whether or not you will take your promotion?" Eli David asked, looking with interest at Shepard's daughter's shoe-tying skills.

Jenny held Madeleine loosely around her middle, looking at Director David across his intimidating desk. Her lips twisted in an uncertain frown and she shook her head a fraction.

"I haven't spoken to Gibbs," she said bluntly.

Eli chuckled.

"Ah, but Jenny, I doubt you are the type of woman who lets another rule your decisions," he said silkily. "It would not surprise me if you have made your decision, and you simply put on as if you are consulting Agent Gibbs."

She looked at him coolly for a moment and then moved her hand up to stroke Madeleine's hair, pulling her daughter's head against her chest gently. Madeleine looked up and grinned, flashing her little baby teeth and batting her eyes gratefully at the attention.

"She rules my decisions," Jenny said tightly. It was the first time she had whole-heartedly felt it to be true; Madeleine was getting older, smarter, more interactive and wonderful every day—and in years past, Jethro had tried to shout it into her that Madeleine had to be the number one factor, but in a way that was almost frightening, Jenny had failed to recognize that particular maternal drive until these past few weeks.

Eli smirked.

"Children," he murmured. "They do tend to influence us," he glanced off over Jenny's shoulder, as if thinking back, and when he turned back to her, his eyes were sharp and inquiring. "You have heard of this plan my youngest has in her head," he began, waving his hand dismissively, "college in America?"

Jenny nodded curtly.

Madeleine raised her hand.

"Tali's going to go where my Aba lives," she informed Director David seriously, in very polite, careful Hebrew. Something about the tall, big man made her try her very best to sound grown-up and smart like Mommy.

Eli managed a tight smile.

"We shall see," he said carefully, the forced smile fixed on his lips.

"Tali deserves to make her own decisions," Jenny spoke up defensively. She owed a lot to the precocious teenager; many missions would not have been possible of Tali had not been so generous with her attentions to Madeleine. "She has earned that right, Eli," Jenny softened her voice.

The director looked tired; he looked angered at the thought, saddened, and heartened by it all at the same time.

"It is something her mother would have wanted for her fiercely," he admitted absently, his eyes drifting away again. "I, however, do not take to the idea of losing Tali."

Jenny pursed her lips.

"Eli," she said gently. "Shouldn't you look at it as saving her?" she asked.

He eyed her darkly. He knew she was right, on some level. He could selfishly keep Tali close, and close himself off to her in the way he did with Ziva and Ari, and he would probably outlive her; or he could let her go, and perhaps hear about the long, happy life she could lead.

Eli cleared his through roughly and abruptly shifted the topic.

"You have been given until when to accept your new NCIS position?" he asked.

"First of May," Jenny answered.

"NCIS," Madeleine said in Hebrew. She pursed her lips and tilted her head, imitating Jenny's hesitant look. Jenny smiled at her indulgently and stroked her hair again. Madeleine went back to playing with her laces.

"And if you do not accept?" Eli asked.

"I put in for a transfer to a state side field office," Jenny said, swallowing hard.

Eli clicked his tongue.

"That would be a pity," he said boldly. "Mossad would relish having a trusted contact in such a beneficial position in Cairo."

Jenny smiled weakly. She was not going to tell the Director, but she had all but made her decision. There were just a few things she had to feel out with Jethro before she could really throw caution to the winds. She couldn't begin to put into words how terrified she felt at the moment. She had already taken one subtle step; she was going to talk to Jethro soon—she only hoped he'd be able to get to Israel for Easter; seeing his face would help reassure her.

Eli leaned forward.

"We shall value your unique position as a liaison between the Mossad and American intelligence agencies in the next few weeks," he said, signaling the end of their meeting. He bestowed upon her a rare, genuine smile. "Just as we have valued your presence overall."

Jenny smiled and stood up, swinging Madeleine effortlessly onto her hip.

It wasn't time for goodbyes yet; it was only the beginning of April. She would no doubt be working in this complex heavily for a few more weeks, though she might have no more contact with Eli. Holding Madeleine against her, she studied Eli carefully—thinking suddenly that, without the grudging support of this man, it would not have been at all possible for her to keep Madeleine.

"Eli," she said thickly. "Do you remember when you asked me to have an abortion?"

He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. He nodded curtly.

Jenny took a deep breath.

She spoke in Hebrew:

"Thank you for accepting my refusal," she said sincerely.

He looked down at his work silently, his lips tightly shut. She turned to go, and almost felt him lift his eyes to her back. Madeleine lifted her nose and waved at Eli, and he cleared his throat.

"Do not think I would deny any woman a Tali or a Ziva of their own."

Jenny paused in the doorway and smiled to herself, pleasantly surprised by the heartfelt expression of love from the cold, untouchable director of Mossad.


Abby tilted her perky head at Gibbs as he stood next to her.

"When are you going back?" she asked conspiratorially, lowering her voice even though they were alone in the lab.

"Easter," he answered vaguely.

Abby squealed and clapped her hands.

"That's not too far!" she beamed at him and tossed her arms out to pull him in for a hug. He couldn't help but grin; Abby's emotions were contagious. "Gibbs, you must miss them so much," she sighed.

He nodded, politely stepping away from her grasp. She entwined her fingers and stood staring at him with a crooked smile and shining eyes.

"When is Madeleine's birthday?" she asked curiously.

"August," Gibbs answered.

"Oh, not so close then," Abby frowned. "I want to get her something next time," she said, wagging her finger at Gibbs brightly. "Hmmm, maybe I'll get her something anyway, so she'll like me already when she meets me," Abby paused suddenly, and narrowed her eyes at Gibbs insistently. "I will get to meet her, right, Gibbs?"

He smiled at Abby, and nodded.

"Soon?" prompted Abby hopefully.

"That's up to her mother," Gibbs responded with a shrug. Abby grumbled under her breath and turned back to her computer, tapping her foot and waiting impatiently.

"I don't know why; she's your baby, too," Abby muttered loyally. The perky Goth frowned again and glanced at Gibbs hesitantly. "Do you even like Madeleine's mother? Or did you just miss out on the high school pregnancy scare and get it when you were fifty and now you're stuck with her?"

"Abs," Gibbs said, a warning creeping into his voice. "I'm not fifty."

"You didn't answer my question," she said, smirking a little.

"It's none of your business," he said curtly, narrowing his eyes. She bit her lip, realizing she had gone too far. She turned back to her computer, considering whether or not she should keep talking to him. She sighed, and whirled back to face him.

"I looked her up," she admitted, looking guilty. "Ducky slipped up and mentioned her by name and I did some sleuthing and," Abby bit her lip. "She works for us."

"Abby."

"She was your partner."

"Abby."

Abby stopped talking, but she smiled a little. She looked at him intently for a moment, chewing on her lip, and then giggled, lifting her shoulders and palms in an innocent way.

"Oops," she remarked slyly. "Is that why Tony isn't allowed to know?" she asked wickedly.

Gibbs turned on his heel to leave, but Abby reached out and stopped him, clinging to his arm. She protested; she liked their little secret conversations, and she didn't want Gibbs to scurry away because she'd gotten too personal.

"How long are you staying in Israel this time?" she asked sincerely.

"A week and a half," Gibbs answered, after considering her for a minute. Abby looked pleasantly surprised.

"Is that because you hired McGee?" she asked brightly, tilting her head again. "Tony's been here for years now, and Kate can keep him in check—oh, Gibbs, we can trust our babies to run the place alone!" she squealed, clapping.

Gibbs gently disentangled from her and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

"Abs, I'm only concerned about my baby," he said gruffly, leaving her to her work in the lab.


It was almost unnerving, the way her schedule opened up so much once her official contract with Mossad was terminated and she was in a limbo period of working with the organization but not in the organization. With no late night operations to sit in on, run, or analyze, and no hands-on intelligence issues to work through, Jenny had only one full-time job: being a mother to a vivacious three and a half year old.

It was a daunting prospect for her. She had always had work to escape to if she felt overwhelmed by Madeleine; in an almost laughable way, dealing with cross-national, ruthless terrorists didn't stress her out as much as dealing with her daughter. Jenny had always had her insecurities about the job she did as a parent, but she usually allowed Jethro to assuage them—or allowed her subconscious to bury them.

She had thought they had a good system; she had thought she was getting good at this. Now she wasn't so sure. The past few days had been filled with Jenny trying not to disrupt Madeleine's usual schedule, as well as Madeleine frequently saying things like "Becca does it this way" or "Becca and I do it different".

What was almost worse was the curious, surprised looks she'd gotten when she picked Madeleine up from Montessori school today; not a single woman or man there had recognized Jenny, and one of the instructors had stopped her to verify her identity.

Jenny's hand was shaking as she opened her apartment door and she felt drained from the disconcerting experience; there were a lot of things she was uncertain about, but she was absolutely positive that when she had to prove she was Madeleine's mother, she was doing something wrong.

Madeleine darted through her legs and into the apartment, happy to be home. She kicked her sandals off on the floor next to a hall table, and Jenny dropped her keys into a bowl on the table. Madeleine was singing in Hebrew, happy, and perfectly unfazed by Jenny's discomfort.

"Ima," she called conversationally, her voice getting more far away as she pranced into her room.

Jenny rubbed her forehead and followed the little voice, leaning in the doorway of Madeleine's slightly cluttered bedroom. She smiled, and Madeleine giggled, kneeling down and taking off her backpack.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?" Jenny asked, showing interest.

"Ima," Madeleine said urgently. "It's a surprise!" she responded seriously, rummaging in her bag.

"Let's speak English," Jenny said softly.

"Yes," Madeleine obeyed. "Yes, Mama," she said, standing up. She whirled around quickly and stood staring at Jenny excitedly, holding something behind her back. She stomped her foot and widened her eyes, struggling and then pulling one hand out to wave Jenny forward.

Jenny smiled and crept forward, sliding down to her knees in front of Madeleine. Madeleine's cheeks flushed and her green eyes glittered and Jenny chewed the inside of her lip, amazed—as she sometimes was—by the reflection of Jethro that was present in Madeleine's nose, and the way she smirked proudly.

Madeleine swept her hand out from behind her back and opened her mouth excitedly, showing off her teeth. Jenny looked down, eyebrows raised, and her eyes fell on a folded, lumpy piece of paper in Madeleine's hands. She looked through her lashes at her daughter and opened her mouth in surprise.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's for you!" Madeleine said happily. "Open, open, open!"

Jenny took the paper carefully and unfolded it, opening her palm to catch what was about to fall out of it. She caught a string of odd little objects as it fell out of the makeshift card and held it up, her brow furrowing. She held a thin, leather ribbon with different sized and different coloured beads strung on it—among other things, like uncooked macaroni and decorative buttons.

Madeleine clapped her hands happily, and Jenny looked at the card more carefully; it was a glittery, bright green and pink mess with semi-neat, three-year-old Hebrew handwriting on it.

She barely had time to read it before Madeleine leapt forward into her arms and bounced up and down.

"Happy-birthday-Mommy-I-Love-You!" she said in a rush, trying to snuggle up in Jenny's lap and kiss her on the cheek. Jenny accepted the affection, stunned, and still admiring the juvenile, creative work of her daughter.

"Madeleine," Jenny murmured, her brow furrowing more. "Maddie, Emmy," she murmured, trying to get her attention.

"That's Daddy's nickname," Madeleine pointed out smartly. Jenny nodded, tilting her head. She held up the homemade card, swallowing to try and keep her voice steady.

"How did you know it was my birthday?" she asked.

There was no way Madeleine had the capability to—well, to really know when it was at all. The only birthday she'd ever celebrated was her own.

Madeleine shrugged, biting her nail with a smile on her lips. She looked a little bashful.

"Daddy said so," she mumbled. She tilted her head. "No, no, Aba tells Tali, Tali and Becca help me," she said, mumbling through Hebrew in English. She smiled proudly and nodded, reaching out to stroke Jenny's hand. "I made necklace, but Miss Sara tied the knots," she said seriously, referring to her Montessori teacher.

Jenny shifted to a sitting position and pulled Madeleine tightly into her lap. She carefully laid the card on the floor in front of her and then examined the necklace, toughing it gingerly. Madeleine looked up, her eyes wide and uncertain.

"Is it pretty?" she asked. "I make something pretty for you."

Jenny nodded sincerely. She ignored how caught off guard she was by Madeleine's references to her father and looked down, meeting the young green eyes that were a copy of her own. She lifted it around her neck and tied the necklace in a loose knot, adjusting it around her throat. She raised her eyebrows at Madeleine.

"I think it's too pretty for me," she said, swallowing hard again.

Madeleine's eyes lit up. She scrambled out of Jenny's lap and pranced around, her hair bouncing with her. Her foot landed on the card she'd made and she slipped, falling onto her butt—but she just giggled, looking up at Jenny. She gasped, her face falling.

"Ima," she cried, falling into Hebrew immediately. The fact that Madeleine was much better at it than English was another reminder to Jenny that she hadn't been enough of a constant presence in her daughter's life, even though she wasn't the one living overseas.

"Ima," Madeleine asked, saddened. "Why the tears?"

"Don't be afraid," Jenny said leaning forward and cupping Madeleine's face in her hands gently. She smiled. "It's okay, Madeleine, I am okay," she soothed, speaking English. "Crying doesn't always mean sad, do you understand?"

Madeleine stared at her. She nodded slowly, looking as if she were concentrating. She frowned still, getting up and dropping into Jenny's lap. She snuggled close.

"I don't like your cries," she said, switching back to English, and mixing up her nouns and verbs.

"I don't like it when you cry, either," Jenny responded, kissing Madeleine's cheek.

"I cry when I'm sad!" Madeleine said, looking up. "You only cry when sad, okay?" she asked. "Maybe not then," Madeleine added seriously.

Jenny burst into laughter, tilting her head back. Her eyes still stung, because she was busy being emotional and touched by Madeleine's thoughtfulness, but the reaction the child had to Jenny's crying was so very—

"You sound like your father," Jenny said. She cleared her throat and hugged Madeleine. "Thank you for my necklace," she murmured into Madeleine's hair. "I love you," she said, kissing the crown of auburn hair.

Jenny rested her cheek on her daughter's hair and closed her eyes, amazed by how much better a simple, sincere childish gift had made her feel about herself.


Gibbs stormed into the midst of the bullpen and waited for the team to look up at him—or, in Tony's case, leap to his feet like a loyal St. Bernard, eager to do the bidding of the master.

"I'm leaving," Gibbs announced bluntly.

DiNozzo looked dejected.

"Again, boss?" he whined.

Gibbs glared at him, and DiNozzo shut his trap. McGee looked up worriedly, still jumpy and nervous around everyone—particularly Gibbs. Kate sat back in her chair, looking at him obediently and waiting. Gibbs decided to focus on Kate; she was the most sensible one in the bullpen.

"I'll be gone ten days," he said gruffly. "If anything big comes up, Abby will put you in touch with me," he said. "All you've got to do right now is wrap up the two cases we just closed and file them away."

It shouldn't be hard; it had been the Marine who'd been falsely accused of murdering his wife—who had almost ended up back in Leavenworth—and the little blind girl who had been kidnapped at her twisted father's behest.

"Uh, boss?" asked Tony hesitantly. "Uh, why are you telling us this?" he asked, glancing at Kate uncertainly. "I mean, you usually just disappear."

Gibbs shrugged.

"Things changed," he said vaguely.

"What things?" snorted DiNozzo, thrusting a finger at McGee. "Probie? You warning him because he's so twitchy?" DiNozzo imitated a comical sort of seizure; McGee flushed and Kate frowned in annoyance.

"Leave him alone, Tony," she snapped at him.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at DiNozzo and waited for the bullpen to quiet down.

"Nah, DiNozzo, I'm warning you," he said coolly. "You're in charge," he said, going to his desk and grabbing his things. He locked everything up, listening to DiNozzo gasp and squawk like a half-strangled chicken.

Gibbs started to leave and stopped in front of Tony's desk.

"And yeah," he said gruffly. "It's a test."

DiNozzo grinned and, in a moment that clearly indicated he had taken a leave of his sanity, he leapt forward and threw himself at Gibbs in a bear hug, clapping Gibbs on the back enthusiastically. Kate stared in front of her, eyes wide, her mouth hanging open in shock. Tony was about to shoot a smug comment at her, when he realized, quite suddenly, that he was hugging Gibbs.

He leapt away as if he'd been burned, his face blanching.

Gibbs glared at him.

"Uh, I'm sorry—I mean, I'm not apologizing because that's against," Tony fumbled with words and turned red. He performed a half-assed salute. "Won't let you down, Boss," he assured Gibbs, clearly embarrassed.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and left the bullpen, shooting Kate an almost sympathetic look. She glared at him, obviously unhappy to be left under the authority of Tony DiNozzo. Gibbs smirked at her and stepped into the elevator. He figured he'd regret leaving DiNozzo in charge, but the moment the elevator doors closed, he put thoughts of the team in the back of his mind for the next ten days.


Gibbs was troubled by the unfamiliar feeling of foreboding that mixed with the usual anticipatory excitement that came with flying to Israel to see Madeleine. He didn't have a bad feeling—it was more like an uncomfortable hunch that was nagging at him—but he couldn't think what it was.

He was six hours into his flight, on the home stretch, and he hadn't been able to sleep yet. He was restless, and he was sore and cramped from the flight. There was no point in trying to sleep now; he would arrive in Tel Aviv a little after noon, and he didn't want to be groggy when he surprised Jenny.

He had called her to tell her he wouldn't be able to make it. It was an almost cruel thing to do—but he liked surprising her, just as he'd always thought it amusing to tell Shannon he was coming home days later than he actually was, just for the pleasure of seeing the complete shock light up her face when he walked through the door.

He knew Jenny was bored. She didn't have much responsibility since her contract with Mossad had ended, and she was getting a taste of what it was like to have a kid and no job to retreat to for a break. She hadn't come out and said it, but Gibbs knew her well enough to guess that the novelty had worn off, and she was antsy and eager to get back to hands on, fast-paced work.

Gibbs leaned his head back and looked up at the plane's ceiling, his mind drifting once again to their cross-national parenting situation. He scowled and turned to look out the window, pushing the thought from his head almost immediately.

He didn't want to go into Israel with negative thoughts, so instead, he thought about the smile that would be on Madeleine's face when he brought out the presents he had for her.


Gibbs was careful to be quiet as he unlocked Jenny's apartment door, wincing when the door clicked boldly as he turned the knob. He put his key between his teeth and bit down to hold it while he dragged his luggage inside. He closed the door and stiffened as he heard the cold, familiar sound of a pistol being cocked.

It was hard to describe the confusion and terror that gripped him as he turned around, spit the keys from his mouth, reached for his gun—and simultaneously realized he wasn't carrying, and that Ari Haswari had a smooth, black pistol trained on him.

That Haswari had his eyes closed calmly was disconcerting enough; that Gibbs' three-year-old child was playing quietly on the couch, mere inches away from a loaded gun, was cause enough for Gibbs to justify strangling the man with his bare hands.

He had to do lightening-fast thinking, because he didn't want to scare Madeleine by shouting expletives at the top of his lungs.

Madeleine, with a simple word, diffused the situation before Gibbs had decided how to proceed.

"Aba," she said clearly, tilting her head.

She pushed away the toy ponies she had in her hands and climbed over Haswari's legs, hopping clumsily off the couch and standing a little shyly by the coffee table. She was dressed in a little school outfit that resembled a Catholic uniform, but didn't have the classic plaid. When she identified her father, and climbed off the couch, Haswari popped an eye open and lowered his weapon, uncocking it nonchalantly.

Gibbs hesitated, torn between ripping Haswari to pieces and crouching to his knees to sweep Madeleine into his arms. In a split second, he decided in favor of the latter, because he didn't want his daughter to witness his anger.

"Emmy," he said gently, kneeling down uncomfortably. She pranced forward, stopping in front of him, her head still tilted curiously. She put her hands to her mouth uncertainly and backed up when he reached out to touch her.

"Aba?" she asked uncertainly.

"It's me," he assured her. He said the Hebrew word that meant he was a safe individual.

"But Ima said you stay in States," she said, her brow furrowing.

Gibbs smirked. He held his hand out until she placed hers in it, and then he picked her up and hugged her tightly and gave her a long, protective kiss on the cheek that made her giggle bashfully and squirm, ticklish.

"I'm surprising you," he said secretively. "Is Mama here?"

Madeleine nodded. She spoke in Hebrew and Gibbs frowned.

"What?" he asked. "Emmy, Daddy doesn't speak Hebrew," he said tensely.

"She asked you to put her down," Haswari spoke up coolly.

Madeleine blinked and nodded, smiling sweetly.

"Floor, please," she said.

Gibbs allowed her to slip out of his arms onto her feet and she darted out of the parlor towards the back rooms of the apartment. Gibbs immediately turned his attentions to the tall, feral man on Jenny's sofa, his features darkening immensely.

"What the hell are you thinking, cocking a gun around my daughter?" he demanded curtly, approaching the younger male aggressively.

Haswari sat up on the couch, cradling his weapon as if it were a precious jewel.

"Merely that Jenny had not said to expect a visitor, and that I may need to protect the child she had entrusted me with."

"You know damn well I'm the only person with a key to this apartment!" barked Gibbs, his eyes narrowing.

"Perhaps a part of me itches to shoot you, Agent Gibbs," Haswari said, his lips drawing back in a snarling smile.

If that was Haswari's brand of dry humor, Gibbs didn't find it the least bit amusing. He took it as a direct threat and bared his own teeth, lunging forward unexpectedly and grasping a handful of Haswari's hair at the nape of his neck; Haswari was caught off guard, but after a moment he recovered his bearings and shoved the barrel of his weapon into Gibbs' thigh.

"Do not raise a weapon in the presence of my daughter again, you son of a bitch," Gibbs snarled.

"Stop."

Gibbs looked up when he heard the hoarse order, and he looked up to see Jenny stumbling forward quickly to yank Madeleine around and prevent her from seeing Haswari holding a gun to her father's leg.

"Stop," Jenny hissed again, her hand firmly on the back of Madeleine's head as she pressed it into her knee. "Let go of him, Jethro, and Ari, put that pistol away now."

The look on her face was painful for Gibbs to see; this wasn't at all the way he'd wanted the surprise reunion to go. She looked like she'd just woken up—she was pale, in wrinkled lounge clothes, and her hair was messily tied back. She swallowed and lifted her hand; he noticed it was shaking.

"Ari," she said quietly. He stood and held his hands up in surrender, turning away from Gibbs; he knew what Jenny was going to ask, so she didn't continue. The eldest David kissed Jenny's cheek, and then crouched to ruffle Madeleine's hair.

Haswari met Gibbs' eyes one last time as he left the apartment, gone like a wisp of black smoke, and for a surreal moment, Gibbs wasn't sure he'd ever been there at all—it was such a strange, unbelievable thing to have occurred.

Why was Ari Haswari hanging out in Jenny's apartment, of all places?

Once again, Madeleine fixed an awkward situation. She wriggled away from Jenny and pointed at Gibbs happily, putting her other hand on her hip sassily.

"I told you," she said, looking up at Jenny primly.

Jenny looked at him tensely, her mouth pursed in worry and surprise and relief. She reached down and smoothed Madeleine's head gently, nodding, and then crossed the space between them; she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him, her lips shaking slightly. Gibbs was surprised by the overly affectionate welcome, but he wasn't complaining.

"You bastard," she muttered, kissing him shortly again. "You bastard, you've got to stop pretending you won't make it," she said hoarsely. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. "I'm so happy to see you," she added, biting her lip.

He grinned at the words and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugging her close enough so that her whole body fit against him tightly. He ran his hand up her back under her shirt and pressed his fingers into her skin.

"You're warm," he noted, concerned.

"I'm sick," she admitted, a little dejectedly.

"What was he doing here, Jen?" Gibbs asked in her ear.

She sighed heavily.

"It's complicated," she answered. "He was helping me—he—just drop it," she said.

Gibbs pulled back, and kissed her forehead. He frowned.

"He cocked a gun right in front of her," he said, hostile, keeping his voice low.

Madeleine interrupted them.

"Aba, Mama wants sleep," she said, tiptoeing up to him and grabbing his pant leg seriously. "You let her go."

"Oh she does?" Gibbs asked, releasing Jenny and reaching to swing Madeleine onto his hip. "Is that why you were playing with the scary man?" he asked tensely.

Madeleine giggled.

"Ari is not scary," she said. She began speaking in halting Hebrew and laughed to herself. Gibbs just smiled a little uncertainly. Jenny pushed strands of hair out of her face and folded her arms, smiling apologetically. Gibbs face changed suddenly, Jenny's words clicking into place for the first time.

"You're sick?" he asked, concerned.

"I've just been stressed," she said. "I have some allergies, probably a spring cold," she waved her hand. "It's nothing, I just wanted an hour or two for a nap."

Gibbs frowned, and then looked at Madeleine, raising her eyebrows.

"Why don't you and I get a snack while Mama finishes her nap?" he asked slowly, unsure if she'd be comfortable enough to accept his offer. Madeleine tilted her head back and forth, thinking about it.

"I don't know you that well," she blurted out bluntly, looking Gibbs in the eye.

He felt like he'd been sucker punched in the gut. Jenny bit her lip and sucked in her breath, clicking her tongue rapidly.

"Madeleine," she said sadly. "Maddie, you'll hurt his feelings," she said, stepping up closer and pursing her lips. "You know Daddy as well as you know me," Jenny said earnestly.

Madeleine looked afraid. She didn't want to make anyone sad, but Mommy was wrong; Madeleine didn't even know Daddy's favorite colour or what he looked like when he was sleeping. If she did, she didn't remember any of it, even if Mommy was saying she should.

She retreated to Hebrew and spoke seriously and quietly.

"What did she say?" Gibbs asked immediately.

He only recognized one word.

Jenny looked at her daughter tiredly and glanced at Jethro through her lashes, sighing.

"Jenny," he said urgently. "Translate."

"She said she knows you like she knows Ari," Jenny admitted. "She sees you as often as Ari."

Gibbs tore his eyes away from Jenny's and looked at Madeleine. He felt like he couldn't breathe. She smiled at him a little, obviously confused by what she was missing. Jenny reached out and spoke to Madeleine, but it was like buzzing in his ears.

"Jethro, it isn't your fault," Jenny said sincerely.

"I know," he answered curtly. He turned and sat down on the couch, leaning forward on his knees. Madeleine whimpered at Jenny, perceptively realizing she had upset her parents.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice.

"Don't apologize," Jenny soothed, almost laughing at the irony of her words. "Honey, you didn't do anything wrong."

Gibbs lifted his palms and put his face in his hands; he held his eyes shut tightly and swallowed hard, and in that moment, he bitterly missed the close, trusting, beautiful relationship he'd always had with Kelly.


Gibbs raised one eyebrow uncertainly as he picked at the plate of food in front of him. It wasn't exactly that he didn't trust her—Jenny insisted that she had learned how to cook, and Madeleine was alive, so there had to be some truth to it—but old habits died hard and the thought of putting something that Jenny had cooked into his mouth brought back unpleasant, Parisian memories of half-raw meat and tough, over-cooked pasta.

It wasn't helping that Jenny was standing right next to him with her hand on her him, waiting for him to taste.

She pointed at Madeleine.

"She's eating it," the redhead said matter-of-factly.

Madeleine looked at Jenny happily from her booster seat and munched quietly on the chopped up pieces of grilled chicken Jenny had portioned onto her plate. Gibbs tilted his head at her and leaned forward.

"Is your mom a good cook, Emmy?" he asked.

She nodded, holding up a piece of chicken.

"Yum," she said, still nodding her head. "Healthy," she added.

Gibbs snorted. Jenny sighed and her hand slipped off her hip. She walked around and put her hands on Gibbs' shoulders, rubbing gently and leaning down to kiss him on the temple in a homey, unexpected gesture.

"Gibbs," she whispered pleadingly. "You woke me up from my nap, I'm not feeling well, and yet I cooked dinner," she sighed. "Are you really not going to at least try it?"

He glanced up at her and frowned at the underhanded tactics she'd employed, but nonetheless he stabbed his fork into the food and put it in his mouth obediently.

"Yum," Madeleine spoke up smugly, nodding her head. She was being remarkably quiet and observant from her booster seat, and it was contributing to a relaxed, calm atmosphere—much different from the chaotic moments of his arrival, and the charged tension that had resulted from all the excitement and settling in.

Gibbs chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and tilted his head back, smirking.

"It's good, Jen," he said.

"Yeah, don't act so surprised," she muttered, pecking his cheek again, but smiling happily all the same. Gibbs grinned and took her hand, pulling her around and tugging her into his lap. The smile stayed on her face; she picked up his knife and speared asparagus stalks with it, waving them smugly in Gibbs' face. "These are Tali's recipe," she said, well aware that he hated the green vegetable.

"Jen, get that away from me," he growled, swatting her teasing hand.

"You'll hurt my feelings," Jenny tried, unable to turn on the pitiful, pleading face again. Gibbs grinned and swatted her gently again, trying to get past her hand with his fork to access more of the chicken.

Jenny laughed out loud, lowering her hand a little.

"No play with food," Madeleine piped up, glaring at them from her spot. Jenny sobered up immediately, setting the knife back on Gibbs' plate. She moved to get up, but Jethro didn't quite let her go. He did, however, make a show of looking admonished by the three-year-old.

"Aba," Madeleine said conversationally. "Eat your veggies."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and stared at her, taken aback. A gleeful grin lit up Jenny's face and she tilted her head to look at her former partner expectantly, arching an eyebrow to see what he would do. She expected him to do the noble thing and set a good example for her father, as any average father would grudgingly do for his child.

She forgot to factor in that Jethro wasn't average.

"I'm forty-five. I don't have to eat vegetables," he retorted seriously.

"Jethro," hissed Jenny, rolling her eyes. She flicked her finger at the asparagus on his knife. "Eat it," she snapped under her breath.

Madeleine just blinked at him and then frowned.

"Mommy says," she informed him. "Veggies help you grow up!"

"I'm already a grown-up," Gibbs answered solemnly.

"Me too," Madeleine agreed, deadpan, and flicked an asparagus stalk off her plate and onto the floor.

She giggled proudly.

"For God's sakes," snapped Jenny, standing up. Her hand when back to her hip matter-of-factly and she pointed at Madeleine. "You will eat those vegetables, Madeleine," she said calmly. "Daddy will eat his, too," she added, glaring at Gibbs seriously.

Madeleine quailed under the authoritative look and picked up a piece of the vegetable.

"Mommy says," she said to Gibbs again. She put the asparagus in her mouth and shrugged, obviously unfazed by the taste.

"She's not the boss of me," Gibbs said, eating another forkful of chicken. Jenny all but stomped her foot and then, perhaps on reflex, reached out and slapped him in the back of the head with an open palm, sending his head forward slightly. He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth again, and glared at her.

Madeleine giggled, her fingers near her mouth.

"You got a spanking," she murmured in wonder, her eyes wide. She seemed to think twice of the giggling and gave him a sympathetic look, eating another piece of asparagus just for good measure, perhaps to make sure she wasn't next.

Gibbs looked at Jenny in disbelief.

"I have to eat that?" he asked skeptically, on the verge of rolling his eyes at this nonsense.

"You dug yourself a hole and handed her the shovel to bury you," Jenny hissed. "Eat it, Gibbs," she ordered, using his surname again.

He complied, but he did it unhappily, and he tried to swallow without really tasting. Jenny smiled and then went back to the stove, fixing her own plate finally. Gibbs washed down the acrid taste of the asparagus with his drink and shot a mock look of anger at Madeleine.

"I said to you," she said sassily, snapping her fingers.

"That's how she says 'I told you so'," Jenny translated fondly, sitting down next to Gibbs.

She tore a piece of bread in half and munched on it, supervising Madeleine for a moment as the three-year-old toyed with the lid of her sippy cup. Satisfied that Madeleine was occupied rather well with her food and drink, Jenny turned towards Jethro slightly.

She swallowed her food and cleared her throat.

"I got my promotion," she said in a low voice.

He sat up a little, chewing more slowly. Her eyes met his and, after he took a moment to process the words, he nodded curtly, reaching out to tap her hand with his fingers.

"You're a hell of an agent, Jen," he complimented. "You deserve it."

She smiled shakily and rested her chin in her palm, glancing down at his hand on hers skeptically.

"I admire your ability to sound so sincere," she said dryly.

"I am sincere," he retorted. "You deserve it. You're good."

She nodded.

"Yes," she agreed practically. "You don't want me to take it, though, and I'm well aware of that," she went on. She shifted her shoulders as if she were bracing herself. Gibbs looked over at Madeleine, who was ignoring them entirely, completely absorbed in eating her food.

He raised his brow at Jenny expectantly.

"That's what we need to talk about," she murmured.

"With her in the room?" Gibbs asked gruffly, nodding at Madeleine. Jenny nodded in return, shrugging.

"She won't grasp much of it," Jenny said. "She's better at Hebrew, anyway," she admitted reluctantly.

"I've noticed," Gibbs said grimly. Madeleine had a stunning habit of babbling happily away in Hebrew, but speaking careful, concentrated English—it bothered him; he knew her nanny spoke in only Hebrew, and he knew she spoke Hebrew at school, but Jenny spoke English and because of that, Gibbs thought Madeleine should be better at English.

He nodded curtly at Jenny and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I haven't taken the promotion yet," she said calmly. "I put in for a transfer back to the states," she revealed, taking a deep breath and raising her eyes to his.

Gibbs blinked, taken aback. He swallowed and let his hand fall off of hers, staring at her. He sensed that there was some complicated factor in this, but the very thought that she'd taken such a permanent step was encouraging, and he smiled a little. She looked apologetic.

"NCIS is inundated with agents at the moment," she said, picking at her food. She put some in her mouth and chewed slowly. "There aren't many agents with enough training or experience to take positions overseas, and there aren't many open positions on the home front," she paused.

"What are your options?" Gibbs asked neutrally.

"I can take a special forces team in Los Angeles," she answered, swallowing. "I'd be working with Decker again, and a few other agents who have experience under cover. I also have the option of taking Special Agent positions in New York, Corpus Christi, or New Orleans."

Gibbs leaned back, nodding slowly. He took a drink, and then rested his fingers on the rim of his glass, beginning to grasp some of the problem.

"If you take Los Angeles, you're there for good," he said matter-of-factly.

"Basically," she agreed. "Once you sync a team like that," she trailed off; Gibbs knew how it worked. Special Forces teams were tight knit and not easily rearranged; if Jenny went to Los Angeles, it could mean they had a cross-country relationship indefinitely—possible until Madeleine was an adult.

"The other positions," he said, thinking about it.

"They're demotions," she said dryly. "Of course, if I took one, I would be choosing it, so it wouldn't be a punishment but—" she paused. "In field offices like that, you work domestic violence or custody battles," she made a face.

"You'd be bored out of your mind," Gibbs realized knowingly.

She nodded reluctantly.

He grunted and leaned forward, looking up at Madeleine. He thought about Jenny and Emmy in Los Angeles, a much shorter distance than Israel but too far away all the same. The sudden thought struck him that Shannon and Kelly had once been without him in California, too—and as irrational and completely different as the situations were, he turned pale and looked at Jenny sharply.

"Don't take LA," he said firmly.

She looked surprised.

"I thought you'd be in favor of LA," she murmured honestly. "It's still a distance, but it's stable, you know Decker…" she trailed off, noticing his colour. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"New York is closer than LA," he tried to brush off her question. "If you take a demotion, there's a chance you could get something in Norfolk or DC in a few years."

She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, pursing her lips. She sighed, deciding to ignore his vehement aversion to LA, and bit the inside of her lip. She looked at him with guarded eyes and after a moment, he smirked, looking back at her.

"You don't want a demotion," he noted.

"Would you want to go back to working under someone?" she retorted.

"You're always workin' for someone, Jen," he reminded her. She snorted and shook her head; he knew damn well what she meant. She was better when she was in control; she was less headstrong and more practical.

"I have more juice, please," Madeleine piped up, waving her cup at them expectantly. Gibbs got up and went to the fridge, taking out the plastic bottle of apple juice and walking over to fulfill her polite little request.

As he poured the juice into the sippy cup and smiled affectionately at his daughter, he spoke neutrally to Jenny again:

"I'll fire McGee and tell Morrow I want you," he said, half-kidding.

She laughed good-naturedly, tilting her head back.

"You know, I did consider that," she said, snapping her fingers. "However, considering how inconvenient our last partnership turned out to be for Tom, I thought it would be crass to request I work with you."

Gibbs smirked. The very thought of trying to work with Jenny and DiNozzo was daunting—the dynamic they would have would probably infinitely beneficial to crime solving but irksome and destructive to his nerves.

Jenny fell silent ad Gibbs popped the cap back on Madeleine's cup.

"Thank you and I like you," Madeleine said happily, delicately taking the cup back and sucking down gulps of juice. Gibbs pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and grinned, ruffling her hair.

"I like you more," he added.

She giggled and went back to munchkin her chicken, shaking her head.

"I like juice," she announced seriously.

Jenny giggled.

"Look at that, she's more skittish of emotions than you are," she said lightly, waiting for Gibbs to sit back down next to her. He did, but he didn't go back to eating. He leaned back and looked at her mildly, considering their position. After a moment of silence, he held his hand out a little uncertainly.

"You want my input?" he asked.

She bit her lip and inclined her head slightly.

"Yes," she admitted slowly. "I have," she paused. "There's another option," she began, keeping her voice steady.

"I'm listenin'," he said.

She pushed her hair back again and took another deep breath.

"If I take Cairo and things go well, I could be back in the US by two-thousand-and-six, maybe two-thousand-and-five," she said carefully. "There's a certain…path my career is on that gives me the security to say that," Jenny paused and bit her lip again. "You know there's a point where a career in a federal agency becomes stagnant," she said.

He nodded.

"If I take a demotion, that's what will happen—even if I take LA," she gestured with her hand vaguely. "Like you said. If I take Cairo, I've still got mobility—and a higher position gives me more leverage."

Gibbs nodded again, and Jenny lowered her hand, tapping her fingers on the table. She looked at Madeleine and pursed her lips, turning back to Gibbs.

"If I take Cairo," she said, testing the waters. "I—Jethro, I know how you feel about Madeleine living here, and Israel is—it's the, arguably, I guess, the safest nation in the Middle East. If I take Cairo, I am not," she paused again. "I am not necessarily suggesting I would take her with me."

Gibbs stared at her blankly. He had to repeat her words in his head to make sure he'd heard her correctly and then, promptly, he swiftly turned his head to Madeleine, eyeing her intently to see if she'd heard Jenny mention her name.

Madeleine paused, her fingers in her mouth, and looked at him curiously, blinking as if to ask just why he was staring at her so suddenly.

Gibbs put his elbow on the table and rubbed his chin. He was still processing what she was implying, so he bought himself time by clarifying:

"You'd leave her with Mossad?" he asked tensely, even though he was sure she was suggesting something else entirely.

He was right; she looked appalled at the very suggestion.

"I'm talking about giving you custody, Jethro," she said softly. "Full custody."

He breathed out heavily, still looking at her in that unreadable, blank way. She bit her lip, her muscles taut with anxiety. She had been thinking about it for weeks, asking herself if she could do it, desperately trying to figure out what was best—

"That's a big change, Jen," he said gently.

She nodded.

"It's fair," she said earnestly. "If I do end up being back stateside in two or three years, we'll have split time with her fairly equally," she explained. She pressed her fingers to her mouth and trailed off, leaning back. She looked over at her daughter.

Madeleine gave Jenny the same look she had given Gibbs, and that's when Jenny got the distinct impression that the three-year-old was, in whatever way she was able to understand, eavesdropping on them. She raised an eyebrow.

"Are you finished eating, ahuva?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Do you want to go play with toys before your bath?"

"No, stay," Madeleine answered primly, picking up her juice. She raised her eyebrows into her pulled back hair and drank silently in an 'oh don't mind me' sort of way. Jenny raised her brows back; even more convinced she might be trying to grasp her parents' conversation. Madeleine hated being strapped in her booster any longer than necessary.

Jenny smirked and turned back to Jethro, pushing her hair back again.

"It is just an option," she said. "We don't have to decide right now."

"Could you do that, Jenny?" Gibbs asked skeptically. "Let her go?"

"Could you do it?" Jenny responded equally, looking at him curtly.

He gave her a look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked narrowly.

She grit her teeth as if holding back a reluctant criticism, but then let it go anyway:

"It means that we've never discussed this as a legitimate option—I think I mentioned it once, and it seemed absurd to you. You'd never considered it because—Jethro, you have a traditional view of family, and I think you're angry about our situation, but you don't want to be a single father, you want me to take care of her, or you want me with you."

She saw the defensive annoyance fire up in his eyes before he voiced it, and winced. She thought it best to be honest about her qualms, though—she'd taken a lot of blame and responsibility for the life they'd made for themselves and their daughter, and she felt like she was justified in getting her issues out there.

"I—" he started. "Jen, you—" he broke off again and she was suddenly scared—it was the first time she'd really experienced Jethro to be utterly unable to form sentences. He lunged forward in his chair suddenly, livid. "You don't get to blame me for this, Jenny," he snarled.

Jenny leaned back, flinching.

"I'm not blaming you," she said in a low voice.

He kept his volume under control, too, so as not to panic the child.

"I wanted what's best for my baby," he said icily. "I wanted her in a stable home in a safe country—that's what I wanted. You never considered it. Are you telling me that if I'd tried to take custody of her, you would have just let me have her, no contest?"

"I'm telling you I had the impression that wasn't an option," she snapped.

"Hell, Jen, so did I!" he fired back. "I'd never dream of taking Madeleine away from her mother—if someone had taken Kelly from Shannon it would have devastated her—Jen," he broke off, his voice fading to unbearable hoarseness. "Do you understand how devastating it is to lose your child?"

"I can imagine," she said shakily, backing off a little.

"But you don't know," he said forcefully. "You don't know, Jenny," he insisted, his expression raw and open. "I love her, Jen, I'd take her back with me in a heartbeat," he swore. "Don't think I don't want her—it isn't that! I don't think you grasp how much it will hurt to have her out of your life!"

She stared at him, unprepared for the outburst of emotion and at a total loss for how to handle his expression.

"You've had to live without her," she said softly, folding her arms and hugging herself slightly. "I've been trying so hard to work something out that's fair," she added desperately.

She wasn't trying to hurt Jethro. His sudden openness about Shannon and Kelly was scaring her. She took a deep breath and got up, reaching out for him. She put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing again, trying to convey that she really did not want to start a fight.

"We don't have to decide right this minute," she said hoarsely. "I just wanted to get it out there."

He turned away from her and put his head in his hands for a moment. Then he turned back and stood up slowly, slipping his arm around her shoulders. He nodded briefly and pressed his lips gently to her brow, reassuring her.

He slipped past her and went to get Madeleine out of her seat. Lifting her up onto his hip easily.

She flung out her cup of juice to offer him some politely, and promptly hit him in the nose with it on accident. She gasped and apologized quickly, her green eyes widening with sorrow that she might have injured him. He just wrinkled his nose and touched it to hers.

"I'm okay, Emmy," he assured her calmly. He tilted his head at her. "What do you think about living with Daddy?" he asked mildly.

Jenny lifted a brow hesitantly. Madeleine looked at up and shrugged, smiling in her indulgent, sweet way.

"You stay here this time?" she asked brightly, nibbling on the edge of her cup. He smiled and looked up at Jenny. Jenny shrugged. Madeleine wasn't old enough to understand or choose; it was up to them to make the hard decisions—and neither of them should have expected it to get easier since the day she was born.


"Aba," Madeleine piped up sleepily, burrowing down by his side in her toddler bed. He shifted to give her more room; his legs crammed up against the railing that served to prevent her from falling out, and paused in reading her a bedtime story, raising his eyebrows.

"When your birthday is?" she asked.

"August," he answered in a low voice, trying to keep her in a sleep mood.

"Me too," she said, a lazy smile breaking across her face. She rolled over and linked her arm through his, burying her face half in his side. "What number?" she asked in a mumble, the words muffled.

"Twenty-fifth," he answered slowly.

She flopped onto her back and yawned at him.

"You forget Emmy when you go to America?" she asked, pointing to herself.

He shook his head.

"Never," he said sincerely, reaching over to stroke her hair back. "I think about you every day. You and your mom."

She smiled a little bashfully. She yawned again.

"I forget you," she said quietly. "I'm sorry I forget," she mumbled.

"It's okay, Emmy," he said, smiling at her. "You're little. It's hard to remember," he soothed.

"No, big girl," she murmured, slurring her words.

He laughed quietly.

"Madeleine," he said, "I don't want you to get big too fast. You're my little girl."

She sniffled and rolled around a little. She had fallen asleep, and he smirked again, carefully getting off her bed and laying the book aside. He covered her up, kissed her again, turned off the lamp and left the room, leaving her door cracked open as Jenny said was part of the bed time routine.

He wandered through the parlor area and found her in the kitchen doing dishes. She looked over her shoulder.

"Is she asleep?" she asked.

He nodded, stretching out after being coiled up on the toddler bed while he read to her. Jenny smiled and turned back to the dishes, blowing loose strands of hair out of her face. Gibbs leaned on a chair, watching her, and then walked towards her.

He placed his hand on the back of her thigh and then slid it upwards soothingly, standing close to her and burying his nose in her hair. She tilted her head towards him and smiled, enjoying his running his hand over her. He rested his chin on her shoulder and smirked, eyeing the dishes devilishly.

"The way you wash those dishes is sexy," he drawled.

She snickered and dropped what she was doing, turning the faucet off. She turned around and lifted her brows and her hands, dripping and soapy.

"Oh, you think?" she asked, wiggling her fingers at him. She reached out and touched his face wickedly, and then wound her hands into his shirt to dry and clean them. He grinned and pressed a kiss to her lips, feeling a lot better, suddenly, about a lot of things. He nodded, mumbling his agreement.

"'Cause I'm so traditional," he reminded her, teasing.

"Traditional, huh?" she murmured, tilting her head back. She bit her lip as he slipped his hand up her back and held her closer, and she smiled, crinkling her nose fetchingly. "You better get me to bed, then, Jethro, the kitchen's no place for a lady to get laid," she enticed.

He grinned, nipped her bottom lip, and turned, taking her hand, and yanking her towards her bedroom.


Gibbs reached up and slipped his hands into Jenny's hair, slowly pushing it behind her ears and keeping his palms gently on her cheeks to keep the red locks out of her face. Her skin was flushed and her eyes were half-closed; her hair was damp and she smelled good. He watched her lick her lips and kiss him again, turning his head a little to breathe her in again.

She shifted on his hips, her thighs moving against his and he ran one of his hands down through her sweat-peppered hair and over her spine. It was late, and they should have gone to bed hours ago, but they couldn't seem to stop touching.

Jenny tilted her head and smiled at him softly, rubbing his shoulders. She snuggled down closer to him and slid her hands down his sides, her nails gently scratching along his ribs. She wriggled a little so she could place her hands between them on his thighs, and he grinned, tilting his head back a little.

She kissed his neck and he let his hand fall lower, resting just at her lower back, his fingers splayed possessively over her smooth, white skin. He watched her throat move as she swallowed, her shoulders twitch as she took a deep breath, and came to the instant, obvious conclusion that he didn't want to sleep with another woman for the rest of his life.

He'd been thinking it since things had mended between them over the first year of Madeleine's life, but it suddenly was so crystal clear that he couldn't really keep his mouth shut about it.

"Jen," he said gruffly.

She blinked up at him through her lashes lazily and lifted one brow a little to indicate she was listening.

"You want to get married?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes, pressing her lips to his languidly.

"No," she murmured with a laugh. He felt her smiling as she kissed him and he glared at her, kissing back roughly and then, when she broke away gasping for air, narrowing his eyes. He realized she thought he was kidding.

"Let's get married, Jen," he said.

She smiled wryly.

"That'll be the day, Gibbs," she said, sassy, bending to kiss him again. She laughed, low in the back of her throat, and slipped her hand to his inner thigh.

She brushed her tongue against his lips, her eyes drifting closed, and then the gravity of his words, his request, sank in, and she slowed, eventually freezing, lifting her nose just a little, looking at him intently, with her lips parted, and a strange, taken aback, vulnerable-yet-incredulous look in her eyes.

"You're serious," she murmured, half-question, half-statement.

He gave her an annoyed look. She sat up a little, biting her lower lip attractively. She let out a breath and rolled off of him, laying on her back with a star-struck look on her face. She swallowed, and he noticed the flush had faded to a pale whiteness—she was genuinely scared, it seemed, by the suggestion. He couldn't help but laugh a little at her expression. He shifted and looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Where's your vocabulary, Jenny?" he asked a little smugly.

She closed her mouth, lifting her hand to her forehead and rubbing.

"You," she said clumsily, "You caught me a little off guard, Jethro."

He nodded, finding her explanation reasonable. She sat up and reached for his discarded shirt, slipping it on. She pushed her hair back and turned to him. She gave him an exasperated glare and wet her lips.

"Where did that come from?" she asked.

Gibbs shrugged.

"You didn't see that comin'?" he asked flippantly. "You asked me not to see other women before Emmy was born," he reminded her. "Hell, Jenny, you think I wouldn't ask?"

"I didn't think about it at all," she said honestly, still trying to catch her bearings. "I thought you'd offer when I told you I was pregnant," she admitted. "I wasn't going to marry you then."

"Now?" he prompted.

"Now," she muttered. "Why now?" she asked, her words catching in her throat. "We have so many other problems, Jethro," she insisted. "You can't just—spring a proposal on me!" her voice got a little higher; she sounded panicked.

He rose up on his elbow and met her eyes, shrugging again.

"I just did," he said gruffly. He smirked at her. "I don't want anyone else, Jen," he said bluntly. "I want you, you and Madeleine."

"Marriage isn't a flippant decision."

"I know."

"It's permanent," she said sharply.

"I know, Jen," he repeated. "That's the point."

"Jethro," she said sharply. "You've been married twice," she reminded him.

He tensed slightly at the mention, gritting his back teeth.

"Three," he said, lowering his voice.

"I wasn't counting her," Jenny said, her voice softening again. "I'm talking about the women you married and discarded," she went on. He narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything for a moment—it would seem that way to Jenny, and he wasn't about to explain himself. It was too much to talk about, and too difficult to get through.

"It wasn't like that," he said curtly. "You're different."

She laughed a little dejectedly.

"Am I?" she asked, slightly bitter. "At the risk of sounding incredibly irritating even to myself, Jethro, you've never even told me you love me."

He looked at her coolly.

"The Czech Republic," he said, voice brittle.

She gave him a faltering smile.

"That doesn't count," she muttered, her words slamming together. She sounded like she was about to start crying.

"What?" he demanded, his eyes growing dark.

"Jethro," she said hoarsely. "I was in pain, I was bleeding out in a back alley and I told you to keep me awake, to tell me things that weren't true so I'd get mad and argue—and you said," she paused, her throat constricting. "It, you said it then. I barely remember it, but it hurt," she whispered.

"Jesus, Jen, I didn't know what the hell you were moaning about in that alley!" he fired back defensively. "I just gave a damn about stopping the bleeding," he said aggressively. She bit her lip and flicked her eyes downward. "The Czech Republic counted, Jenny, I meant it," he said seriously, his voice low. "I meant it."

She lifted her head and looked at him, her green eyes raw.

"I can't marry you, Jethro," she said huskily. "That doesn't mean I want to be with anyone else."

"What does it mean, then?" he asked harshly.

She pulled is shirt close around her and lowered her eyelashes.

"I don't think you're over Shannon," she said in a whisper. She felt sick admitting it. She swallowed hard and shifted, curling up on her side and facing him, her hands on the pillow between them. "I trust you, Jethro," she swore. "I believe you're giving me what you can, but sometimes, you lay awake, and you wish you were sleeping next to her—and I understand it; you've never tried to get over her death, not before Madeleine. It takes time," she said, wiping her eyes briefly. "But I can't marry you while you're struggling with Shannon. I can't come in second to a ghost," she said honestly. "It hurts too much. We don't even know if we can live together," she whispered. She bit her lip and swallowed again, taking a deep breath. "I'm scared, Jethro."

He settled down next to her, his mouth and throat dry. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, had his breath knocked out, and his heart clawed at, but a majority of the turmoil he was dealing with resulted from the knowledge that he was hurting—even unconsciously—Jenny.

"You want to take Cairo," he mumbled matter-of-factly, looking her in the eye. She covered her mouth and nodded, almost apologetic, her eyes spilling over again. He frowned, but it wasn't argumentative or angry; he dreaded losing her to the danger.

He smirked stiffly.

"You're running away from me, Jen," he noted, realizing it was the truth.

She reached out and grabbed his hand tightly.

He yanked the covers up and moved closer, throwing his leg over hers and tangling himself up with her. She nodded at him and licked her lips, admitting her cowardice. He slid his hand into the shirt she was wearing and rested his palm on her spine again, tracing the outline soothingly.

He felt her breathing, calming down, on his neck for a few minutes and then he cleared his throat.

"We'll talk about custody in a few days," he said neutrally.

She laced her fingers into his and squeezed.

"I still want to marry you, Jen," he muttered a little selfishly—it was almost endearing. She smiled, and brought his knuckles to her mouth, brushing them with her lips, and like that she fell asleep, with more confidence in him than she'd had in a long time—and with her steady breathing under his hand, he lay awake hours after she slept, mulling over what she'd said.


Gibbs had gotten used to waking up with company over the past few days. He was surprised when he rolled over groggily to grab for Jenny and came up with empty hands. He blinked and sat up, frowning. There was no scent of breakfast in the air, and no sound of Madeleine playing, so it was either very early—or Jenny had gone out.

Gibbs cleared his throat and got up, listening carefully. He glanced at a clock and noted it was about ten in the morning. He blinked, still adjusting to being awake, and dragged his feet lazily into the parlor—where he stopped abruptly.

Tali David looked up at him from an armchair, an apple in her hand and a book in her lap, and smiled brightly, wide awake and unfazed by his disheveled, half-dressed presence. He narrowed his eyes and glanced around—Madeleine was absorbed in a movie on the television—before he settled his glare back on her.

"Good morning," she greeted in a singsong voice. "My, you look quite handsome," she added with a snicker, her eyes dancing.

Gibbs frowned and sheepishly retreated to the bedroom, throwing on a shirt for modesty's sake and taking a moment to thank God that he'd gone to bed in pants last night. He didn't want to be walking around undressed in front of a teenager, no matter how mature Ziva and Jenny insisted she was.

He raked his hand through his hair, trying to fix it from sticking up, and trudged back into the living room.

"Where's Jen?" he asked gruffly, walking to the couch and sitting down. He reached forward and picked up Madeleine easily, lifting her into his lip. She twisted and grinned at him, waving a good-morning wave.

"Work," the pre-schooler spoke up. "Tali sits on me," she added seriously, turning back to her television.

"Hmm," Gibbs murmured, raising an eyebrow. He kissed the top of her head. "I don't know if I want Tali to sit on you," he teased.

Madeleine shrugged and waved her hand flippantly.

"Did not ask you," she informed him smartly.

Tali giggled and closed her book, turning her attention to Gibbs and munching on her apple whole-heartedly. Gibbs smiled at Madeleine's head and leaned back, letting her sit on his lap, and looking at Tali again.

"Jen?" he asked, seeking a more substantial answer.

"She had to make a trip to the complex," Tali answered lightly. "Ari is at risk of coming into contact with some NCIS teams in his next operation, and Jenny is reading him in on operation procedure and what he might have to avoid," she explained.

Gibbs' expression soured and he made a face.

"Where's Haswari's next operation?" he asked sarcastically.

Tali raised her eyebrows, her apple hiding her mouth. She smirked.

"I may be a very young girl, but I am not a gossip, Agent Gibbs," she said primly. "I certainly cannot divulge Mossad secrets to you—particularly when I myself do not know."

Tali bit off another piece of the apple and chewed, drumming her fingers against her book.

"Jenny will be back early this afternoon," she offered. Tali smiled slyly. "And I hope you will take her to a fancy dinner, Agent Gibbs, because I want the little one to myself tonight and you have no excuse to stay in."

Gibbs raised his eyebrow at her and smirked, shaking his head.

"You can call me Jethro, Tali," he said.

"I am honored," she teased. "Then I hope you, Jethro, will let me watch little Madeleine while you enjoy a grown-up date."

He snorted.

"We aren't the date type," he said gruffly.

"That shall simply have to change," Tali sighed matter-of-factly, "For I have already booked the two of you a reservation," she shot him a wicked look. "I dropped my father's name, so you had better take advantage."

Gibbs glared at her. She flashed her teeth in a beautiful winning smile.

"Jethro," she laughed. "Do you understand that I must live through Jenny? No boy will touch the daughter of Mossad's most fearsome, and I have never been in love!" she exclaimed.

Madeleine flopped back against Gibbs' chest and pointed at the television, twisting to look at him.

"Daddy, bad guy," she announced.

"Where?" he asked immediately, wrapping his arms round her lightly and protectively. She pointed at the television again and Gibbs looked up, his brow furrowing suddenly. The film was dubbed in Hebrew, and he hadn't noticed what she was watching when he first walked in, but now he was caught off guard.

He was looking at Darth Vader, it seemed.

Madeleine put her hand to her mouth and breathed in and out heavily in a perfect imitation.

"It's okay," she said after a moment, patting his knee comfortingly. "He's gone," she whispered, as the scene changed, and suddenly the Star Wars film was back on a planet swirling with white, immaculate snow.

"She's watching Star Wars?" Gibbs asked skeptically, directing his attention to Tali.

Tali narrowed her eyes at him.

"You got a problem with Star Wars?" she asked.

He grinned, surprised, and shook his head.

"Didn't peg you for a Sci-Fi nerd," he drawled.

"I am full of surprises," Tali said brightly. "The final movie is going to come out in two years," she informed him. "I shall get to see it in America," she reminded him. "Perhaps I will take her with me."

Gibbs smirked again, amused.

"What school did you decide on?" he asked.

"Duke University," she answered smoothly. "I am studying Art History and Biology," she offered. "Pre-medical."

Gibbs nodded, impressed. Tali had always been very diverse with her interests. He couldn't imagine her needing a fancy, high-class American education. She could probably school every southern spoiled brat at that university.

"I appreciate that you would let me stay with you if I had chosen Georgetown," she said gratefully. "May I still spend Holidays with you, though I am Jewish?" she asked with another smile.

"Yeah, Tali," he said, shrugging. "You got to go somewhere."

She smiled at him, down to the core of her apply, and Madeleine slipped of Gibbs' lap, scooting closer to the television and saying something to it in Hebrew. Gibbs cocked his head and watched her. Tali giggled.

"She says Chewbacca is cute," Tali translated.

Tali spoke to Madeleine in Hebrew and Madeleine turned around, grinning in a sparkly way.

"Chewey is a big puppy," she said. She threw her head back and looked at Gibbs upside-down. "Aba, I want a puppy," she informed him.

"What does Mom say about that?" he asked.

"Ima say 'No, silly, house is too small' and she say no," Madeleine said, promptly absorbing herself back in the television.

His first thought was that he had a house big enough to keep a dog.

Many thoughts such as that kept occurring to him—since Jenny had mentioned rearranging their custody agreement. He still had about five days to make a decision, one that she said was up to him and she was okay with either way. Still, he felt like he was in the wrong either way; he did not want Madeleine going with Jenny to Cairo, but he still felt it would be selfish—if not downright cruel—to separate them, not only for Jenny's sake, but for Madeleine's.

Disrupting her life in such a drastic way when she already lived in an odd, non-traditional situation, seemed detrimental.

"You know," Tali spoke up quietly. "I would be able to come to the US early, if I got my visa in order now," she said. "I could help her adjust, be someone familiar," Tali shrugged encouragingly. "If you choose to take her home with you."

Madeleine stood up and skipped over, grabbing onto Gibbs' knee.

"I see where you live, Daddy?" she asked curiously tilting her head.

He smiled gently.

"Maybe, Emmy," he said. "Do you want to?"

"Yes," she said eagerly. She smiled and jumped up and down, still holding onto his knee tightly.

Tali smiled at her and then looked at Gibbs.

"She will have so much fun at the festivals on Saturday," she said. "I loved them very much myself as a child."

Gibbs nodded, remembering suddenly the fairs they were taking Madeleine to on Saturday.

"What's it all about again?"

"Oh, it is part of many charities fundraising during the Passover season," Tali explained. "There are lots of games and pageants. It is all very good fun. "I myself am helping raise money for schools in the Palestinian territories," she added. "Some are not too pleased about it, but peace begins with education, does it not?"

Gibbs gave her an encouraging look and nodded silently. Madeleine, still hugging his leg, was back to watching the movie. Tali stood and disposed of her apple, laying her book on the table in front of her. She came back into the living room and leaned over the back of the chair she'd been in, her crystal blue eyes alighting on Gibbs.

"I once asked you to tell my your story," she said good-naturedly. "The story of your love affair with Jenny? You declined," she reminded him. "She will not speak of it, either, though I think it is obvious you have resumed it."

Gibbs raised his eyebrow at her threateningly, daring her to go on.

She bit her lip and smirked, tilting her head back with a laugh.

"Jethro, please humor me, please tell me the story!" she pleaded. "About some things, I am a normal teenager, and you know I do want to know the clandestine story before I am dead!" she exclaimed dramatically.

Gibbs rolled his eyes indulgently. He ruffled Madeleine's hair and leaned back again, giving Tali a guarded look.

"Watch Casablanca," he advised.

"It's like Casablanca?" Tali asked, her brows going up in delight.

Gibbs shrugged, thinking about Paris.

"Ah, it's somethin' like that."


"Where does Gibbs go when he…goes?"

Kate and DiNozzo looked up at their new team member simultaneous. Kate looked exasperated; DiNozzo looked smug, and McGee looked back at them both with sincere interest.

"You should ask him when he gets back," DiNozzo said seriously, his features schooled in earnest.

Kate rolled her eyes and chucked a wadded up piece of paper at him.

"Don't ask, McGee, it won't end well," she said darkly.

"So," McGee spoke up slowly, "You don't know?"

"We don't know," agreed Kate.

"Not for lack of trying to find out," DiNozzo said bitterly, frowning. "He's a mystery, our taciturn leader."

"Uh," McGee began, faltering. "You guys know Abby knows, right?" he asked uncertainly.

DiNozzo swiveled around to stare at the probie, outraged and interested at the same time.

"How do you know she knows, McNewbie?" he demanded.

"She told me."

Tony looked injured. He looked at Kate, thrusting his thumb at McGee.

"What do you think of this?" he demanded.

Kate shrugged, flipping through some paperwork.

"Gibbs trusts Abby," she said matter-of-factly. "He's known her the longest."

Tony brooded, grumbling under his breath.

"You think if I slept with Abby she'd tell me the secret?" he mused.

"She didn't tell me the whole thing, just that she knew," McGee said defensively.

"Well, I bet you're not as good in bed as I am, Pruh-hobie," Tony fired back smugly.

McGee shrugged uncaringly.

"She did sleep with me and not you, DiNozzo," he fired back promptly.

Kate snickered. She closed the file she was looking at.

"It's a woman."

"What's a woman?"

"The reason behind Gibbs' erratic vacations," Kate clarified. "It's a woman. It must be."

"I think Gibbs wrote off women when his second wife hit him with a golf club," DiNozzo snorted, narrowing his eyes. Kate shrugged and leaned back in her chair looking thoughtful.

"He had an argument with someone while we were under cover in the recruitment office," she said mildly. "It sounded like a woman, a worried one."

DiNozzo looked between McGee and DiNozzo.

"How can you both be so blasé about this?" he demanded, throwing his hands up, annoyance written all over his face.

Kate shrugged.

"It's not our business, Tony," she said.

He folded his arms and scowled.

Didn't they understand that everything was Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, Jr.'s business?


Jenny sighed in nervous exasperation as Madeleine darted through her legs towards a cotton candy vendor on the sidewalk.

"Madeleine Jane, hold your father's hand at all times or I will carry you through these streets," she threatened.

Madeleine frowned and dragged her feet back slowly, slapping her palm into Jethro's and immediately tugging him towards the fluffy, colourful treats. Gibbs blandly allowed himself to be pulled along, while Jenny narrowed her eyes and surveyed the area.

"Pink, please," Madeleine said, clutching Gibbs' hand tightly.

"You don't even know if you like it," Jenny reminded the child.

"Tali says yum," Madeleine retorted, stomping her foot. "Aba," she said, looking up at Gibbs immediately. "Treat, please."

Gibbs looked at Jenny for instructions. She sighed and folded her arms.

"You have not had a proper lunch," Jenny muttered. "And just why do you think Daddy will say yes if I say no?"

"I will kiss him," Madeleine said demurely, fluttering her lashes.

Gibbs grinned and crouched down, coaxing her out of the way of other people.

"How about we wait for Tali to finish up her charity work," he began, bargaining, "and get some healthy lunch before we go for the sweets?"

She glared at him as if he had betrayed her in the cruelest of ways. She stuck her lip out and Gibbs frowned weakly, struck by the pitiful cuteness. Sensing the risk posed by the powerful puppy-dog face, Jenny casually stepped in front of Gibbs and picked her pouting daughter up with a smug smile.

"I'll remove temptation from your midst," she said to Gibbs, nudging him a little with her knee.

He stood up, thankful for it, and turned towards her, looking around. Jenny smiled, blinking in the sun, shifting her weight so it was more comfortable to hold Madeleine on her hip.

"Where's Tali's thing?" Gibbs asked.

"That tall hotel up the street," Jenny said, indicating with her head. Her ponytail swayed and brushed the back of her neck, dancing slightly as she stopped moving her head. Madeleine put her chin on Jenny's shoulder and continued to pout at Gibbs hopefully.

He just shrugged his shoulders apologetically and made a sad face in return, pointing at Jenny's back as if it were her fault. Madeleine grinned, giggled quietly, and put her hand to her forehead, shaking her head in a cute imitation of Jenny's exasperation.

"What do you want for lunch, baby?" Jenny asked.

"Latkes," Madeleine answered promptly, wriggling. "Let me down," she said sweetly.

Jenny sighed again, her brow crinkling.

"You have got to hold someone's hand, ahuva," she warned. "Mommy doesn't want to lose you."

"I do promise," Madeleine insisted, fluttering her eyelashes persuasively.

Jenny smiled and let Madeleine slid down off her hip, steadying her on the concrete. Madeleine twirled around, prancing in her brand new black Mary Janes, and then laced her fingers into Jenny's obediently, still sashaying her hips back in forth excitedly, enjoying the new dress her father had bought her a few days ago.

Jenny grabbed Gibbs' elbow and steered him towards the hotel Tali was working in, weaving through some tight areas before

"Where're we headed?" he asked.

Jenny rummaged in the pocket of her jeans, her hand wriggling uncomfortably.

"Can you grab my cell?" she asked, trying to keep a hold of Madeleine at the same time. Gibbs slipped his hand into her back pocket and tucked the bulky cell phone out, pressing it into her waiting palm.

"Damn, Jen, your jeans are so tight," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Do continue acting like it annoys you," she said, rolling her own eyes. She looked up and pointed across the street. "There is less of a crowd over there," she said. "We'll cross, wait outside the hotel for Tali, and get lunch."

Gibbs nodded. Jenny transferred Madeleine's hand to his and, after checking the traffic; they crossed the street and stood on the opposite side, facing the formidable, high-rise hotel where Tali's charity event was being held.

Madeleine bounced around, antsy, trying to yank her hand out of Gibbs' grasp.

"I will stay by you," she said, looking up at him. "Let me go," she pleaded, hopping up and down.

She was so excited and distracted by all the people and festivities that she couldn't stand still. Gibbs smiled, admiring her energy and childishness, but he didn't budge on the handholding; it didn't matter if he was in DC or Tel Aviv, he was under no circumstances allowing his three-year-old to run around crowded streets without an adult's hand firmly attached to hers.

"Em, you can run around later at the park," he soothed. "Right now there's too many people."

"I stay by you!" she insisted.

"I believe you," Gibbs replied. "I don't believe everyone else," he told her. "What if someone snatches you away?"

She frowned thoughtfully and sighed, gripping his hand and looking over at Jenny.

"Ima, you said lunch!" she said, stomping her foot.

Jenny frowned, looking at her cell phone.

"I'm not getting a signal," she said.

Gibbs raised a brow.

"We're in the middle of a city," he said.

She grunted, nodding, and rubbed her forehead. She looked stressed, and checked her watch. Squinting in the sun again, she pointed towards a row of parked cars closer to the hotel.

"I'm going to go a little closer, see if Tali's on her way out," she said. She frowned, looking at Madeleine. "You feel like something's off, Jethro?" she asked.

"No," he answered distractedly, glaring at Madeleine as she hopped onto his foot, crushing his toes, hopped off, and repeated the annoying dance, giggling madly. He didn't look up, but listened to her feet crunch as she walked away.

"Mama," Madeleine yelled, stopping her stomping on his feet. "I want to come."

"Stat with Daddy, Madeleine, I'm going to get Tali," Jenny said brightly.

Gibbs, tired of the ceaseless jumping around, picked Madeleine up again and swung her on to his hip, holding her in front of him and peering down at her smugly. She stuck her tongue out good-naturedly and twisted to look curiously at Jenny.

"Mommy's cuuuuuuuute," she trilled, giggling.

"Yes," agreed Gibbs seriously nodding his head dramatically. He looked over Madeleine's head, narrowing his eyes in the sudden sunny brightness as he watched Jenny walk in between two parked taxicabs—his vision lit up unexpectedly and burned; he flinched.

Instincts that were honed to a fine point suddenly told him he wasn't staring into the bright sun—he was staring into something much worse. His vision went up in smoke and flames; he saw the explosion before he started to feel the impact—before he heard the deafening roar of a building being brought to its knees.

Madeleine screamed.

The sound pierced his ears painfully and the next few seconds were so charged with panic and fear that he barely remembered them later—he threw his hands tightly over Madeleine's head, protecting her skull and the back of her neck, and dropped to his knees heavily; he grit his teeth against the numbing pain that shot through his back—he thought he felt shrapnel hit his hands and scrap his shoulder—and, bracing himself with enough restraint not to crush her, he threw himself forward, laying as flat as he could, protecting his screaming daughter with his body hunkered over her and his nose and mouth all but smothered in the rocky, muddy gravel that framed the side of the tattered, chaotic Tel Aviv streets.


The trauma that surrounded the entire sordid event prevented Jenny from clearly remembering everything that had happened in the moments before she was violently flung into the windshield of the taxi she'd just walked by.

She knew she covered her head and protected her neck—she knew she wasn't hurt badly, just banged up, aching, and bleeding a little from her leg and side. She felt hot and wind-burned, and she coughed roughly, blinking, struggling to sit up and carefully avoid the glass that had shattered and fallen around her.

All she could hear was screaming, panicked, unintelligible, horrified screaming—and she could barely see; there was dust and fire everywhere. She fumbled around for something to hold onto and found the mirror of the taxi; she used it to steady herself as she stood, bent over, trying to catch her breath. Hysteria rose in her throat and sent chills down her spine; her first thought was the she couldn't see or touch Jethro or Madeleine—she didn't know if they were okay—and her second thought was that Tali was dead—she felt it like ice water down her back.

Jenny gasped and turned around jerkily, trying to stumble back the way she'd come. She blinked dust and smoke out of her eyes, flinching in the still burning desert sun, and thought it couldn't help her at all, she started screaming—screaming because she was so scared—screaming until her throat was raw.


The explosion triggered Gibbs' military training and he focused immediately.

He lay low until he sensed the immediate danger had settled and then he rose up on his elbows, staying low to the ground, keeping Madeleine trapped protectively under his chest. She was kicking his waist, struggling in fear, her dress, skin, and hair covered with dirt. He called her name gently, but she was sobbing too loudly to hear him. He flinched; the sound of her distress grated on his sanity and hurt him more than any rough piece of shrapnel ever could.

Steeling himself, he ignored her screaming and began checking her for injuries, keeping a sharp eye out for blood, scratches—anything on her that could mean she needed a hospital. He felt cautiously comfortable with deciding she was all right; from the sound of it, she was just scared.

Gibbs picked her up and rolled over, sitting up and cradling her in his lap, his knees pulled up for support. He stroked her hair and bent to kiss her forehead, doing the best he could to soothe her before he moved her or let himself feel the threatening, chilling fear that was gripping him about Jenny.

Jenny, who he'd last seen walking towards the building that just went up in flames.

"Daddy," Madeleine sobbed. "Daddy," she screamed, mumbling unintelligently in Hebrew.

He looked around him and stood up, bearing the brunt of their weight on his knees—and that sent a jolt of pain up through his spine again. He still cradled Madeleine like she was an infant, covering her face with his arm, and he looked around, his eyesight adjusting to the post-explosion scene.

He took a step and froze—he heard a scream amidst the other yells and cries for help that was unmistakably Jenny's—a scream that he'd heard in Paris, when he'd taken a bullet, and a scream that he'd heard again in the Czech Republic. It was raw and terrified and it made his blood run cold, but before he could seek the direction it had come from, pounding footsteps reached his ears, he blinked, and she was there, clutching his arm, clawing at his back, her hands shaking as she desperately tried to access Madeleine.

Gibbs loosened his grip so she could see Madeleine, and Jenny gasped, her eyes sliding closed in pale-faced relief.

She threw herself close to Gibbs, pressing her body against him and reaching into his arms to hug and kiss Madeleine, her dusty, dirty face streaked prominently with tears. She looked up, her eyes wet and hollow, and she reached up to touch his neck.

"Are you okay?" she asked hoarsely, still shouting over the noise. "Are you okay, Jethro? Say something, say something, I need to hear your voice!" she demanded hysterically.

"I'm fine," he said aggressively. "Jen, you're bleeding," he told her.

"I know," she said, her voice interrupted by a sob. "I know, I'm hurting," she added. He could see she was losing her cool, panicking—but this was her territory, he needed to know the safe place to go, he needed her to tell me what to do.

"Jen," he said sharply, shifting Madeleine and hugging her tightly against his shoulder. "Jenny, tell me what to do—do you need a hospital?"

She stepped back, bent over, and threw up.

He wasn't surprised—she usually vomited when she was traumatized—but he was frustrated; he would have lost control of his own fear and stress if Ziva hadn't materialized out of nowhere.

Her face was expressionless and she looked unharmed, save for a ghastly, horribly mangled cut that went from behind her hear down her shoulder and oozed thick, coppery blood onto her ripped blouse. She took Jenny's hand gently and pulled her close, looking at Gibbs with hard, meaningful eyes.

"There is a medical center at the Complex," she said in a controlled, cold voice. "I will take her there. I will secure you in my quarters there," Ziva said. She began to lead Ziva away towards her car.

Gibbs obeyed her instantly.

He let Ziva get Jenny in the back seat of the car, and he handed Madeleine in, watching Jenny buckle the three-year-old in best she could and then curl herself around her, tending to her with as much strength as she could. Gibbs opened his door, pausing as he caught Ziva looking sharply at the mass of flames that had once been the hotel.

"Ziva," he said sharply.

She looked at him over the hood of the car with blank, inky eyes, her face a porcelain mask of impenetrable strength.

"My sister is dead," she said bluntly.

She sank into the driver's seat and fired the ignition. Swallowing hard, he got in next to her, slammed the car door, and turned around, his eyes meeting Jenny's—and the both of them directed their energy towards calming down their petrified daughter.


It seemed like hours that he was on lockdown in Ziva's Mossad Complex suite. He waited in tense, charged silence. Jenny was in the medical bay, somewhere underground. Madeleine had been checked out and cleared; he had given her a sedative—but he hadn't put her down.

She was fast asleep in his arms now; he had gently cleaned up her face and changed her into cool, clean, and comfortable clothes. He had helped her brush her hair and he had done his best to tell her Mommy was going to be fine—Mommy just needed to see a doctor to make her cuts go away.

Tali David's death was unconfirmed, but he felt it in his gut. He felt it in the way his head ached and his throat dried and his muscles throbbed. He swallowed, staring straight ahead of him at a blank expanse of wall from where he sat on an immaculate tan leather couch. Ziva's quarters were undecorated, empty, and unfeeling.

He felt imprisoned.

Gibbs rubbed Madeleine's back, more to reassure himself than to comfort her. He looked down at her peaceful, sleeping face and felt like he couldn't breathe. It was too much to handle—being that close to death was too much to handle. He didn't feel like he was capable of keeping it together.

Wincing at the pain in his muscles, he stood up and carried Madeleine into Ziva's bedroom. He settled her among the pillows and covered her with a soft, cashmere blanket that was messily folded near a pair of Ziva's boots. He kissed her forehead and put a pillow on either side of her to keep her from rolling.

He left the room.

Almost immediately, he stormed back in and stood in the doorway, staring at her.

He leaned against the open door and slowly sank to the floor, able to see both the entrance to the suite and the bed Madeleine slept in from his low vantage point. He wasn't thinking about anything but Kelly—Kelly, and Madeleine's screaming, sobbing fear in Tel Aviv.

Gibbs rubbed a shaking hand over his mouth and raised it to his eyes, cradling his forehead in his palm. He closed his eyes heavily and let out his breath, his shoulders slumping against the door. When he felt wetness on his hands and face, he closed his hand over his nose and wiped his cheeks, brushing his palm on his shoulder and raising his palm to shield his eyes again.

If he did this as quietly and quickly as possible, it would be over and he'd be able to be there for Jenny and be strong for his daughter.

He took a deep breath and swept his thumb and forefinger under his eyes, brushing his fingers off on his shirt again. He set his jaw and grit his teeth, struggling still to fight the irritating stinging in his eyes. He threw his head back against the door, ignoring the throb that banging it against the wood elicited.

He wiped his eyes again, and when the door opened and Jenny slipped tiredly into Ziva's suite, his hand was still over his eyes evasively.

He cleared his throat, forced his palms into his eyes, and stood up abruptly, turning to face her. She walked up to him slowly, put her hands on his chest, and looked past him worriedly. Her eyes fell on Madeleine, asleep in the bed, and it was as if her muscles turned to jelly and she leaned into him, slipping her arms around his waist.

"Oh, Jethro," she murmured, squeezing her eyes closed. She pulled back from the hug after a moment and placed her palms on his neck, looking at him calmly, biting her bottom lip. She pressed her hand to his cheek, her knuckles brushing lightly over his skin.

She didn't say anything, but she didn't feel so weak anymore—feeling tears on his skin, even if he was going to stand and pretend he had never shed them—made her feel safe, and strong. It wasn't that it made him weak; it simply told her that she wasn't pathetic for losing her control so easily.

He looked away from her gruffly and pulled up the cotton, loose t-shirt she was wearing, his hands flying to the injury he'd seen in the city. Tenderly, he ran his fingers over rigid, dark stiches that held together a gash in her side—he crouched down and pushed up her shorts, putting his thumb against the couple stitches that ran around her thigh almost like a garter.

He looked up.

She had burns and cuts on her neck and clavicle; her hair was pulled back.

"Jethro," she choked.

She tilted her head back as he stood up. She shook her head, ponytail swinging.

"I threw up," she snorted bitterly, hating that annoying, childish reaction she always had to trauma. She laughed mirthlessly, and the laugh dissolved into tears immediately. Gibbs gently coaxed her towards the living area, shutting Madeleine in the room behind them.

"I thought you'd gone in that building, Jen," he said hoarsely.

She let out a strangled cry and shook her head; she covered her mouth, trying to compose herself.

"I saw you cradling her like that—like a baby, Jethro, and she looked so limp," Jenny broke off, her words failing her. "I thought she was dead," she whispered, voice raw. She looked pale and sick again. "My heart stopped."

"She's not dead."

"How did you live when you lost Kelly?" Jenny burst out shakily, her eyes wide and liquid with incomprehension.

"It wasn't really living," he answered, his voice constricted. He lifted his shoulders, unable to explain it. It couldn't be put into the words, the pain and suffering of losing Kelly. He just moved his mouth wordlessly. "It was hell," he said hoarsely. "Hell."

"It still is, isn't it?" she asked quietly, reaching up to touch his face again. Her thumb rested on his lip.

He looked at her guardedly for a moment, a moment she thought he was going to push her away and suddenly realize he had let his guard down too much. He seemed to give up, though; he seemed to decide it wasn't worth it to push her away from him.

He nodded.

She bowed her head and leaned into his chest, clinging to him. She took a few deep breaths and he could feel her breathing heavily, a scared, panicky sort of breathing. She lifted her head, her eyes determined, her lips parted.

"Jethro," she said in a small but firm voice. "You have to take her with you," she told him, her throat locking up even as she made the irreversible decision. "You have to take her. She will be safer with you," she said.

"Jenny," he interrupted tensely. "You're traumatized. You can't make decision like this right now, you—"

"I can," she said, "I am. She needs something more stable than this. She needs to be with you."

"She needs you too," he said aggressively, his voice rising.

"I know that!" Jenny cried, stepping back a little. Tears rolled down her face. "I know that, Jethro, but she can't stay here—she can't stay with me! You have to take her with you—take her to that beautiful house you have, with that backyard and—Jethro, buildings don't just explode in Washington DC," Jenny said desperately. "What happened here, today—it's a commonality! It's a fact of life!"

He stared at her, daunted by the prospect, unsure if he should talk her out of it or if he should agree. It scared him to be put in charge of Madeleine so suddenly and so completely, but he knew he wanted her with him more than anything.

He wanted Jenny, too.

Gibbs reached out and touched her neck with both hands, trying to soothe her. She took his wrists lightly in her hands.

"Let her sleep, Jenny," he said, the tension still in his voice. "Don't wake her up."

"She isn't going to understand, Jethro," Jenny said weakly. She batted her eyelashes and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "What are we going to say to her?"

He didn't know what to tell Jenny; he had never been in this situation before. He and Shannon had never discussed what Kelly had been told about her father's military job, though Gibbs knew Shannon had told their daughter at some point that there was always a chance Daddy might not come home.

Gibbs didn't have an experience with children and those kinds of conversations.

"You really want me to take her home with me?" he asked quietly.

She squeezed his wrists.

"Tali David is dead," she said, the words falling heavily on his ears.

A look of stony sorrow crossed his blue eyes.

Jenny swallowed hard, shaking her head, her lips trembling. She pulled away violently and her hand flew to her forehead; her fingers were shaking.

"I should not take Cairo," she said, the panicky note overtaking her voice again. "I have been so selfish, so unbelievably selfish," she swore, her voice cracking, and hugged herself, her back to him, bowing her head. "I can't take Cairo," she moaned.

"Jen," he said firmly. "Jenny, come here," he approached her.

They needed to sit in silence, or she needed to cry or—they couldn't make decisions like this right now.

She whirled around and slapped his hand away from her, holding onto his fingers. There was a determined, hurt glint in her green eyes. She bit her lip and then swallowed heavily and opened her mouth, taking a deep breath.

He wasn't expecting the next breathless, ominous words that fell on his ears, but she said them anyway, and it was like an open-palmed slap in the face:

"You need to know why I left you in Paris."


The only alcohol Ziva kept in her quarters was vodka, and Gibbs grudgingly accepted the double shot Jenny poured for him. He figured it couldn't taste any worse than the bitter pill he was about to swallow. For a long time, he had thought he deserved to know just why she had abandoned what they had in Paris; now he wasn't so sure he wanted to—not when he'd moved on, and gotten over it.

She came back in from checking furtively on Madeleine and sat down across from him at Ziva's small worktable—an impersonal, wooden square that was sequestered in the window area, with three chairs around it.

Jenny pushed her hair back, pursed her lips, and tapped the edge of her glass. She looked up at him frankly and pursed her bottom lip; her demeanor suggested she was resigned to revealing something she had never wanted to talk about.

"When I was in college, my father was accused of dealing arms during the Cold War," she said bluntly, without fanfare and with no introduction. "He was career army, a decorated Colonel, and to be sickeningly cliché, my hero," she went on dryly.

Gibbs leaned back, studying her intently. He realized he was just as ignorant of Jenny's family as she had been—and still was, to a certain extent—of his.

She sighed, frustrated.

"There are a lot of classified black ops and legal terms and mazes involved in the accusations and investigation," she said tightly. "It was like a damn Tom Clancy novel, but there wasn't that lingering, hopeful knowledge that my father would get cleared. I was trying to finish school and there were lawyers and reporters and CIA agents in my face every hour of every day."

She pushed her hair back and took a drink of vodka.

"I went from being the respected Colonel's daughter to the traitor's daughter in a matter of weeks and my father would not read me in on anything—anything," she reiterated. "I only knew what was in the courts and on the news, and it was a lot of slander and misplaced hatred," she clenched her fist.

Gibbs furrowed his brow.

"What was he accused of?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I just told you," she snapped. She took a deep breath and flicked her eyes away apologetically. "He was accused of selling the US's Cold War arsenal to a network of international, independent arms dealers, the leader of which was a man named Rene Benoit," she answered quietly. "La Grenouille."

Gibbs frowned thoughtfully, wracking his brains.

"That's frog," he said, uncertainly. "It's French, for 'frog'," he said more confidently.

"Oui," she answered sarcastically. "Fitting, as he's a slimy, cold motherfucker," she snapped.

Gibbs eyebrows went up slightly in mild surprise at her language. She looked sour and shrugged, looking into her drink again. She wrinkled her nose, distressed lines appearing on her forehead. She looked upset and shook her head, setting her glass down heavily and looking out the window.

"He was about to be stripped of his title and dishonorably discharged," she said hoarsely. "The army was my father's life. I was living at home for a while after I graduated, just while I got on my feet, and to show him support," she bit her lip. "I never believed he was guilty."

"What happened?" Gibbs asked neutrally.

"Officially?" she asked bitterly, looking back at him sharply. "He shot himself in his study," she said dully. "I was upstairs."

Gibbs winced, and drew in his breath. He stretched his hand across the table and touched her wrist with his index finger.

Jenny tapped the center of her forehead with her free hand and her lips trembled.

"He used his personal weapon, the Glock he taught me to shoot when I was fifteen," she said quietly.

Gibbs rubbed her hand gently and narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Officially," he murmured. "You don't think he killed himself?"

She scoffed slightly.

"My father did not commit suicide," she growled. "He wasn't a coward. He wasn't the type—and he sure as hell was not going to pull a trigger and leave the world thinking he betrayed the country he'd served since he was seventeen years old, Jethro!"

Gibbs nodded slowly, showing her he was listening.

She shook her head, her face flushed with anger.

"I called his lawyer and the police," she said. "I was in shock; I was adamant that there had to be an investigation," Jenny shrugged violently. "No one listened. It was declared a suicide, and he went down in military history as one of the greatest traitors to work in the Pentagon."

She bit her lip and reached for his hand, flattening it out gently on the table and touching the place between his thumb and forefinger, drawing a circle with her nail.

"He—Dad—he had a pressure bruise right here, like someone had," Jenny paused and applied harsh pressure to the spot and almost immediately, Jethro felt paralyzed; a burning pain shot up his arm and down his spine and he tried to yank away, but he couldn't.

She let go, and looked up at him pointedly.

"If someone pressures this spot, you can't fight back when they put your own gun in your hand and manipulate your fingers to pull the trigger on yourself," she hissed coldly.

Gibbs pulled his hand back and rubbed it, looking at her guardedly.

"You think someone murdered him?" he asked, prompting her again.

She put a hand to her lips.

"I think La Grenouille murdered him," she said coolly. "That bruise," she pointed at Gibbs' hand, "That isn't the only reason. There was a glass of scotch on my father's desk, but one of our crystal tumblers was missing," she hesitated. "Someone took a glass."

"You're sure it wasn't missing before?"

Her eyes filled with tears.

"I can't be sure," she admitted hoarsely. "But I know it, Jethro. I feel it," she broke off. "I would have thought I was going crazy—my friends, my boyfriend at the time, they did think I was losing it. They thought I was in denial, hysterical. But after the funeral—after the civilian funeral I was forced to give my father because he was denied military honors—that bastard came to my house."

"The Frog?" Gibbs asked.

She nodded, swallowing.

"He was in the study when I came home," she said softly. "He was in the study, drinking my father's scotch, and smoking my father's cigars," she snapped. "He came to offer his condolences, he said. He had known my father in Germany, years ago, when I was just a child—" Jenny paused. "And I remembered him, Jethro," she hissed. "He brought me gifts—he was a contact of my father's, and he betrayed him."

"He told you he killed your dad?"

She snorted, shaking her head.

"He said it was a pity the Colonel was unable to live with his actions," she quoted. "He returned the missing crystal, and he left."

Gibbs' brows went up.

Jenny fell silent and then looked down at her hands, lacing her fingers together.

"I tried to get the police to re-open the investigation, but I couldn't prove the glass had been missing," she said quietly. "And the military wanted to believe that they had neutralized their threat."

"Why would the Frog come back?" Gibbs asked skeptically. "Why goad you like that?"

"Because he's an arrogant son of a bitch, Jethro!" she burst out. "He had just made off with an entire arsenal of weaponry and he'd thrown the blame on a high-ranking American official!"

Tears sprung to her eyes again and she bit her lip.

"I spent my entire year at FLET-C going over everything I could get my hands on and desperately trying to appeal his case," she said. "I just wanted his name cleared—and when I couldn't get that, I wanted revenge," she explained tightly.

"You find anything out?"

She nodded, pressing her tongue to her bottom lip firmly before she spoke again.

"My father was leading Special Operations at the Pentagon," she said curtly. "He worked with the CIA, and the Army turned a blind eye to a lot of what he did in the name of national security. He was working with La Grenouille in what they thought was a sting to take down a ring in Chechnya; La Grenouille tried to bribe him to turn the arms over. My father refused the bribe, and La Grenouille turned on him," she explained. She lifted her arms stiffly and slammed them on the table. "That's all she wrote," she finished bitterly.

She shot back the rest of her vodka and looked out the window again, holding her palm against her cheek. She looked emotionally drained, and she was pale. Recounting this story, on top of the violence and trauma in the streets today, had not been good for her. She wanted to drink herself into a stupor and sleep for days.

Gibbs rubbed his jaw, trying to fit all the pieces together.

"You've been after this bastard," he said slowly, working it out. "You've been hunting him," he accused lightly.

"You are damn right I've been hunting him," she responded honestly.

"Why NCIS?" he asked. "Why not the CIA?"

She turned her head to him sharply.

"Because he'd expect the CIA," she hissed smartly. She swallowed and leaned forward. "Because I used my connections to my advantage," she admitted, a little sheepish. "My father had a friendly relationship with McAlister," Jenny revealed. "The head of the San Diego Field Office?"

"Yeah, I know McAlister," Gibbs grunted. He glared at her. "He assigned us the Paris Op," Gibbs remembered.

She pursed her lips and nodded seriously.

"He never believed my father would kill himself, either," she said aggressively. "He fought to get me that Op so I could get my foot in the door," she went on. "He figured an agent with a vendetta against an arms dealer could only be beneficial. Morrow had me work with Decker in LA before they teamed us up for Europe. He made sure I could hack it."

Gibbs' head ached. He rubbed his mouth again and leaned forward, tapping his finger on the table.

"Svetlana and Zhukov," he said abruptly. "They had assets in Chechnya," he growled.

She arched a brow icily.

"Who do you think brought that information to NCIS?" she asked coolly. "Their names were in my father's files. McAlister had been after them for years."

Gibbs didn't know whether to laugh or start throwing things. Her history, what had brought her to NCIS, was so full of intrigue and inside information that he was no longer surprised she was so successful at political undercover operations. She was a phenomenal asset to this agency, and no matter how much respect he afforded her, it seemed he always underestimated her.

"Jen, you couldn't kill Svetlana," Gibbs said curtly, glaring. "I had to cover it."

"I know," she said bitterly.

"How the hell did you think you'd be able to execute this Frog guy?" he patronized.

"It is different," she snapped.

As soon as she said it, he understood. She was compartmentalizing it. She didn't want to stare into the face of someone whose story she didn't know and pull a trigger, but she very much wanted to exact revenge upon someone who had made her hurt so much.

After a moment, Gibbs spoke calmly:

"Your entire career has been focused on vengeance," he said.

She didn't answer. She turned her head away from him again. She nodded slowly and her lashes closed over her eyes lightly.

"You knew you'd be offered a promotion after Paris?" Gibbs asked.

She nodded again.

"I knew if I kept climbing the ladder I'd find the power to bring him down," she murmured. She opened her eyes and looked down, tilting her head and glancing at him with a resigned smirk. "I didn't know what a mess I'd get in when they partnered me with you," she admitted honestly.

He let himself smile.

"Why did you leave, Jen?" he asked.

It felt like a rhetorical, redundant question—but he wanted to hear her say it, even though he had a clear idea now. She bit her lip and lifted her shoulders shakily, her eyes wide and unguarded.

"Jethro," she said, a little exasperated. "The only man I'd ever loved was my father, and that relationship had just been destroyed, emotionally and physically. I was afraid I was trying to replace him with you, and I was," she paused. "Unstable, I suppose. The ambition I had to get revenge gave me focus, and it took my mind off the pain. The thought of moving in with you—when you asked me to come back with you," she shook her head. "I couldn't. I felt like I was letting Dad down. You were so—you don't think you're different now," Jenny said quietly. "But you are. Back then, in Paris? Loving you was a terrifying, insecure thing, and I didn't want to take the risk. I knew how to be alone. I didn't know how to be in love," Jenny sighed and frowned, shrugging her shoulders. "I ran."

He felt like he understood.

He let silence hang between them. He shrugged a little.

"Why tell me now?" he asked gently.

"You understand why," she replied. "You would not have understood back then," she said simply. "You were too angry." Jenny smirked a little wryly. "I like to think I broke your heart," she teased hollowly.

He rolled his eyes tensely, glaring at her. She leaned back in her chair, looking at him tiredly; her shoulders slumped. He leaned forward, his hands resting in front of him limply.

"What does this have to do with Cairo?" he asked seriously. "What does it have to do with Emmy?"

"Everything," she said, looking at him with her brow furrowed. "I stayed in Israel so I could keep my career path, I was going to take Cairo so I could keep that career path, all to get La Grenouille. My entire career has been about him since I was twenty-two, and it all should have been about Madeleine from the day she was born."

Gibbs' thoughts crashed together in his head.

"Jen," he said tersely. "Jenny," he shook his head. "You can't quit this job," he said aggressively. "You're too good."

"I'm not talking quitting," she placated. "I'm talking re-evaluating. I should take a position in New York, or some field office," she said, resigned. "You know, there's all this talk these days of women having it all, a career, a kid—I think they can. I really think we can have it all, but I can't have it all in this career," she said. "Having a job and a daughter is not the problem, having a job in which the number one thing on my mind is murder," she lifted her chin. "It's unhealthy."

"You don't want to get his guy anymore?" Gibbs asked, frustrated and confused. "That makes it all worth nothing, Jen," he growled. "It makes leaving me worth nothing."

"We wouldn't have lasted if I hadn't left," she said dully. "You know that."

"What's gotten into you?" he demanded.

"This," she said, lunging forward and pointing her finger at the table. "This place, this war," she hissed. "Tali was killed today, Jethro, a very young girl who only ever wanted to see peace was brutally murdered, months before she was to go off to a country where she wouldn't be in such danger. Having a child has made me think about the connections between people, the pain caused by death—Rene Benoit has a daughter," she said coolly. "A woman I have never given a damn about until now. I have made it my mission to end his life, and when I do? If I do? I'll have put another young woman through the same horrifying pain I suffered."

"Jen, you don't have to focus on him anymore," Gibbs said seriously. "You're still needed. You can do good in Cairo. You can stop attacks like this from happening," he faltered, struggling to find a way to put this into words. "You may have fought for the wrong reasons, but it's the right fight. You can't let yourself go to waste."

She looked at him, biting her lower lip.

"If I take Cairo," she said softly. "You have to promise me you'll take Madeleine. You'll take care of her."

"'Course I'll take care of her, Jen," he said gruffly.

He reached up and rubbed his forehead, clearing his through roughly. He took a deep breath.

"I killed the son of a bitch who killed Shannon and Kelly," he said hoarsely. He swallowed hard. "I don't regret it. I've never lost a night of sleep over it," he hesitated, blinking heavily. "But it didn't make anything better. It didn't bring them back."

She reached up and brushed her eyes dry, looking at him with parted lips. She reached up and pushed her hair behind her ears.

"You think I should go to Cairo?" she asked shakily.

"Yeah," he agreed firmly. "Yeah, I do."

Jenny looked stunned. She pressed her lips together. She looked at his glass of vodka; he had left it untouched.

She felt curiously relieved. They had never covered this much ground in their relationship, and they had been involved intimately with each other for well over three years now. It felt invigorating, but her head ached. There was no reason why she should be allowed to feel relief and healing when one of her dearest friends was dead.

"We'll have to talk to Madeleine," she said, exhausted. "She won't understand what's happened to Tali," Jenny admitted. "But I think we can get her used to the idea of living with you."

Gibbs felt a tingling of apprehension rising in his spine and he nodded. Jenny stood up, nodding her head.

"I'll check on her," she said quietly.

She winced as she moved, her whole body sore.

Gibbs held his glass of vodka.

He chose not to drink it, and, after sitting in frozen solitude for a moment, absorbing the chaos and revelations, he stood and followed her. He walked into Ziva's bedroom slowly, stopping at the edge of the bed next to Jenny. The redhead rested her palm on sleeping Madeleine's back and then lay down next to her, snuggling up with her daughter.

Gibbs sat down next to her and traced her stitches again silently. Jenny rolled over to face him and cleared her throat. She started to say something, but instead closed her mouth and started to cry, overwhelmed.

Gibbs leaned down and kissed her, closing his eyes, exhausted by that same emotional strain.


Jenny was asleep and Madeleine was groggy and fussy when Gibbs left Ziva's room with the pre-schooler in his arms, set on keeping her calm and allowing her mother to catch the precious few hours of dreamless sleep she could.

Gibbs left the suite, humming softly in Madeleine's ear, and began a soothing pace through the labyrinthine hallways of Mossad. It was as silent as the grave in these dark spaces, and the Complex was cloaked in an ominous sense of dread and malevolence. He wanted to take Madeleine and Jenny back to the apartment in Ramat Aviv, but he had been told by Eli David to wait for a safety clearance.

Madeleine shifted uncomfortably and whined softly some more. She was half-asleep and in an unhappy mood, something she couldn't be blamed for. He thought walking around might either catch her interest or soothe her back to sleep—and he was restless himself. He needed the movement.

He had turned a long corner and was about to retrace his steps when he heard the muted sound of shattering glass bursting from behind a closed door a few feet in front of him. He stopped, alert, and moments later another crash followed—and a thud, and a resounding banging. His gut told him there was no threat; he walked forward, leaning towards the door. Madeleine lifted her head; he soothed her with a kiss and pressed her face into his shoulder again.

Muffled, through the door, he could hear raw, broken Arabic; a female voice rising about the daunting sound of things being broken and thrown around.

He straightened up and opened the door, looking inside.

He found exactly what he'd expected he'd find.

In the seconds it took him to step inside and quietly close the door, Ziva did not notice Gibbs enter; she continued violently rending the room to shreds—breaking the legs of a chair, smashing electronics, throwing objects at the vast windows.

She whirled around, her wild, dark hair flying, and she yanked a hunting knife from her boot. Her eyes flashed and she took a well-used blanket from the table near her, beginning to rend it to shreds with the weapon.

It was when she cut the edges from the thick material that she noticed him standing there and the colour drained from her stricken face. She dropped the blanket, and her face-hardened into the mask of stone that he'd seen in the streets after the explosion.

She held the knife in a desperate, dangerous manner.

He saw her knuckles tighten on the hilt of her blade and her hand twitched; she turned the blade towards her wrist.

"Ziva," he said quietly, his eyes boring into hers.

She parted her lips viciously, and then she dropped the knife. It landed dangerously close to her booted foot. She fell to her knees, her mask of stone melting just as quickly as it had appeared, and she let her hair fall in a curtain that hid her face as she crouched, paralyzed, on her hands and knees in the middle of the wreckage.

Madeleine whimpered softly, her hands over hear ears. Gibbs shushed her; she looked tired and confused by the commotion, and Gibbs reprimanded himself silently for bringing her in here. He bent forward to let her onto her feet and her approached Ziva, crouching down next to her. He put his hand on the back of her head.

"Ziva," he said softly.

"Gibbs," she moaned.

Her whole body shuddered and she sobbed hoarsely. She sat back on her thighs and turned to him, holding onto his shoulders blindly.

"Tali," she cried. "Gibbs, Tali was untouchable!"

Ziva leaned forward, collapsed against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her, looking over the fallen warrior's shoulder to meet his daughter's wide, curious green eyes. Madeleine crept forward, lowering her hands from her ears. She stood and looked at Ziva.

Gibbs held Ziva around her shoulders tightly, acutely aware that he was the only person who would likely ever witness her like this—he knew it was because she knew about Shannon and Kelly. The eldest David sister and Gibbs had always had an implicit understanding of each other; they were both soldiers. They shared the bond of war.

"Zee," Madeleine said sleepily.

Ziva did not hear. She was absorbed in her pain, struggling with the weakness of crying into Gibbs's shoulder.

He coaxed Madeleine closer and put a finger to his lips, indicating that Ziva didn't want to talk. He pushed Madeleine's hair back and smiled at her sadly. He and Jenny had not yet told the little girl that Tali had died.

Ziva's honed, cat-like senses told her that she and Gibbs were not alone, and she straightened, turning with narrow, red eyes to the child.

Ziva stared at Madeleine, her body tense—as if she would spring away out of fear or apprehension. Gibbs knew she rarely interacted with his daughter, though he had never known if it was because she did not like children, or due to something else entirely.

"Madeleine," Ziva said softly, surprising Gibbs. "You loved my sister like I did," she said weakly, nodding her head. She swallowed and stood up. She picked up Madeleine and held her close, murmuring in rapid, muted Hebrew.

"She loved you so much, little one," Ziva whispered. "You must always remember her," she said, burying her face in Madeleine's loose curls.

Gibbs rose to his feet slowly, his own expression firm and stony.

He was not sure how much more of this turmoil he could take. It was all too concentrated, too intense. He needed to breathe—they all needed to step back, and let it sink in, and breathe.

Ziva looked up at him slowly, and he met her eyes with the implicit promise that he would never speak of the emotion she'd shown here. She nodded, her eyelashes fluttering, and she still hugged Madeleine. She showed no signs of letting Madeleine go.

Madeleine struggled to look at Ziva and touched her face.

"Where is Tali, Zee?" she asked, yawning through her high voice.

Ziva could not speak; she could only look at the little girl helplessly.


To say Madeleine's last few days in Israel had been a struggle would be an understatement, but it was the word Jenny and Gibbs had mutually taken to use whenever they referred to the many aspects of the situation they were in.

Gibbs had wrangled an extension of his trip out of the Director solely by making the promise that he would need no more leave time to visit Israel from this point on. He had then touched base with his team, and spent several hours coordinating plans with Noemi and Ducky. He chose to leave Abby out of the arrangements for now; she would be eager, but what he needed was calm and practical.

Ducky had been tasked with giving Gibbs' house a once over to ensure it was as child-safe as possible for the time being. Noemi was busy purchasing a few necessities for Madeleine: a car seat to drive her home in, clothing, stuffed animals, some toys. Jenny would be shipping much of Madeleine's things over in the next month, but Gibbs was going to need interim supplies.

Amidst the rush of making arrangements for Madeleine's move to the United States and dealing with the emptiness that Tali's untimely death had left, Jenny was doing the best she could too calmly help her daughter understand that she would be living with Daddy from now on.

For the past few days, they had—with gentle determination—tried to reinforce the concept of what moving in with Daddy meant. Madeleine seemed to be listening to them. She responded, she asked questions, but no matter how much they prepared her and talk to her, Jenny and Gibbs both knew that when the reality of being separated from Jenny struck, there was going to be fallout.

It was inevitable.

When it came down to the moment of parting—when they were again standing in the Tel Aviv airport saying goodbye, Jenny felt as if she couldn't breathe. Her hands were shaking. She had been in this position before. She was used to farewells in airports—but this was different. This time, she would be the one left alone.

Gibbs had Madeleine's diaper bag over his shoulder; Jenny had pulled it out of a closet to pack full of things to entertain her during the flight. Madeleine was dressed comfortably in pale blue shorts and a sleeveless, checkered pink shirt. Jenny handed Gibbs the cardigan she was holding in case the flight was cold and bit her lip.

"You call me when you land," she said calmly.

He nodded.

Jenny took a deep breath. She heard them call for Gibb's flight and she reached but and took Madeleine from him, hugging her tightly. She kissed her face, her eyes full of tears—but she did not allow them to fall in front of her daughter.

"Madeleine Jane, you be the best little girl you can be, do you hear me?" she asked sincerely. "You be sweet and good to your father and to anyone he says is safe. Make me proud, ahuva," she whispered.

"I will," Madeleine said smugly. "I'm sweet," she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes.

Jenny smiled shakily.

"It might be a long time before I see you," she whispered. "I'll miss you more than anything," Jenny paused and switched to Hebrew to use an analogy that Madeleine would recognize. The little girl giggled and nodded, wrinkling her nose. Jenny returned to English. "I love you."

"I love you," Madeleine promised seriously. "I get to see Aba's house," she said matter-of-factly

Jenny smiled.

"Oh, I know. He has a back yard, you know," Jenny said secretively. "If you ask him nicely, he might plant you some pretty daisies!"

Madeleine beamed.

"I will ask sweet," she said. "I will give you some," she added.

Jenny responded by hugging her, and hugging her tightly—she didn't want to let go, but they called Jethro's flight again.

He stepped forward and bent over Jenny, kissing her cheek and squeezing her shoulder. He gave her a quick hug and gently took Madeleine back, settling her on his hip. He waved his hand, and Madeleine mimicked him.

"Tell Mommy goodbye," he said gruffly. "Tell her you'll see her again."

Madeleine obeyed, but she spoke in Hebrew. Jenny waved back. She jumped forward and kissed Madeleine again.

"Jethro, I don't know how you did this," she choked out, rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek softly.

He didn't have an answer. He looked at Madeleine.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded brightly, and Gibbs turned. Madeleine wriggled happily, looking around, and then she paused, cocking her head.

"Ima is not coming?" she asked.

"No, honey," he said gently. "Mommy has to stay," he reminded her. "It will be a little different now," he added.

She looked uncertain.

"You stay?" she asked slowly. "Or…Aba, you will be with me?"

"Yes," he said firmly.

"Okay," she said shakily. She turned and peered over Gibbs' shoulder. She looped her arms around his neck and gasped, leaning back. She looked at him with big, uncertain green eyes. "Daddy," she said in a small voice. "Mama is crying."

He cleared his throat.

"Emmy, it's okay," he said strongly.

She stared at him trustingly and clutched him tightly, unsure what to think of the strange situation. Gibbs rubbed her back, aware she was staring across the distance at her mother, and he was afraid for the first time that Madeleine didn't believe him when he told her it was going to be okay.

Madeleine had been on a plane before, but this time around she was much more alert and perceptive to her surroundings.

She held a sippy cup full of apple juice in her lap and looked around as they coasted somewhere over the ocean, directing her attention away from what she had decided was the 'scary window'. She had not spoken much since they had taken off, and Gibbs was beginning to worry that the reality of leaving the only home she'd ever known was sinking in.


Madeleine lifted the cup and drank it, leaning back in her seat.

She set the cup aside and crawled over to Gibbs, climbing silently into his lap and laying her head on his chest. She sniffled, but when he checked, he couldn't find any sign of tears. She frowned and pulled on her ear.

"My ears hurt," she said loudly, probably because they were stopped up and she couldn't hear herself speak. He picked up the sippy cup and handed it to her.

"Drink your juice," he said quietly. "It will help the feeling go away."

She obeyed, but she lost interest in the juice quickly.

"We go to see Tali?" she asked.

"No, honey," he answered grimly.

"Tali going to America," Madeleine informed him, lifting her head and looking up.

"Emmy," he said gently. He put his hand on her hair lightly. "You aren't going to see Tali anymore. She got hurt too much in the accident," he reminded her. Madeleine frowned, trying to understand. She laid her head back against Gibbs and sighed, shifting around to get comfortable.

He reached beneath his seat and rummaged in the diaper bag. He pulled out her favorite book and a blanket, covering her with the latter and nudging her playfully with the edge of the former.

"You want me to read to you, Em?" he asked.

She reached out and touched the book, nodding furiously.

He propped the book up against the arm rest and opened it, lowering his voice:

"There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid…"


It was Noemi who met him at the airport. Madeleine was asleep, to the dismay of the Latina woman who was so eager to meet her. Gibbs greeted Noemi apologetically and carefully buckled Madeleine into the new car seat Noemi had in the back of her car. Then he helped load their luggage into the trunk.

"Your flight was pleasant, Senor?"

"Ah, she got a little restless and cranky, but it was fine," he answered. "I'll spend the weekend gettin' her settled in, Noemi, and you can spend all the time you want with her once she's more comfortable with me."

Noemi beamed.

"She is beautiful, Senor, so very lovely," she complimented.

He grinned and thanked her quietly. She offered him the keys, but he declined, choosing to let her drive in case Madeleine woke up and panicked and he needed to tend to her. He was feeling uncertain and apprehensive now; it was starting to feel very permanent. He was on American soil, and he had to be at work on Tuesday morning. There was no going back now—he was, so to speak, a single father.

"Senor Gibbs, you stay at Senora's house?" Noemi asked as they exited Dulles International.

Gibbs shook his head.

"Nah, I need to get her used to my place," he said. He gave her some instructions on a shorter way to get to his house and, furtively, he kept checking the rearview mirror to see if Madeleine had awoken.

She stayed fast asleep for the entire ride to his house, but when Noemi had parked and was helping him unpack, she groggily opened her eyes and began looking around silently. Gibbs opened the car door and unbuckled her, holding out his arms. She didn't movie, so he picked her up.

She blinked rapidly, her eyes adjusting to wakefulness. It was dark outside. Gibbs took the last bag from Noemi and said goodbye. The housekeeper smiled brightly at Madeleine and waved, but Madeleine sleepily hid her face, confused and shy. Noemi quietly left them alone, and Gibbs steeled himself to enter the house that hadn't had a child in it since Kelly had died twelve years ago.


He turned all the lights on in his house so it wouldn't seem like a frightening, dark place. He let Madeleine down on the floor, watching her look around the place. She scampered forward drowsily, peering around curiously, and then halted abruptly.

"Aba," she whined uncertainly. "It's big," she said, backing up into his legs. He smiled and crouched down to her level, holding her shoulders.

"That just means more room to play," he said encouragingly. "And room for a puppy, remember?" So he bribed her a little; Jenny didn't have to know about that.

Madeleine stepped forward again. She started for the stairs, changed her mind, and then wandered towards the living room.

"Where's Ima?" she asked unhappily.

Gibbs frowned, tensing up.

"Madeleine," he said gently. "Mama is in Israel," he told her.

Madeleine turned around and looked at him.

"Where are we?" she asked uncertainly, yawning.

"We're in America," he said.

She frowned, swirling around. She shook her head and smiled slightly; Gibbs looked at her with dread. She scampered into the kitchen and he followed slowly—but he'd already figured out that she wasn't aware of what exactly it meant for Jenny to be in Israel.

"Ima," she called. She ran back to Gibbs. "Is Israel far?"

"Madeleine," he said again, kneeling in front of her. He touched her shoulder. "It's very far, it's a whole ocean away," he whispered. "You live with Daddy now."

She said something in Hebrew.

"You need to speak English," he told her gently.

She jumped back, her face turning pale.

"I want Ima," she said, her mouth trembling.

Gibbs started to answer. Madeleine walked past him hesitantly, looking around. She darted around a corner.

"Ima?" he heard her say.

Gibbs rubbed his forehead roughly and stood up, turning to watch her. She went down the hall and stopped, obviously at a loss for wear to go. She ventured down a little, peeked in a room, and shouted:

"Mama!"

He didn't say anything. He figured the only way for it to settle in was for her to realize for herself that her mother was not in this house.

"Mama!" Madeleine screamed.

She ran back into Gibbs' view and went to the stairs, but she had never been up these stairs before and she was scared of them, so she sat down on the bottom one, her mouth trembling and tears spilling down her face. She looked up at Gibbs.

"I want Mommy," she whimpered.

Gibbs picked her up and sat down where she had been sitting, cuddling her comfortingly. She murmured in pained, incoherent Hebrew, softly crying his name, and asking repeatedly for Jenny. He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the ache she was causing in his heart.

This was going to be infinitely harder than he ever could have imagined.


Tali's death was canon, so I do hope that didn't shock you too much-in fact, I believe I made a note at the beginning that she was an expendable character? Well, Miss Tali was the catalyst for Gibbs going to live with Jenny, just like her dear brother was a catalyst for quite a bit of change at NCIS himself.

Reviews are appreciated!
-Alexandra